


The Contest

by speakingwosound (sev313)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Self-Discovery, Smut, and some angst, smut and more smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-10 10:00:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3286154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sev313/pseuds/speakingwosound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry, Zayn, Niall, and Louis all call dibs on Liam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smuttyscribbles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smuttyscribbles/gifts).



> Written for [smuttyscribbles](http://archiveofourown.org/users/smuttyscribbles/pseuds/smuttyscribbles) for the [OT5 fic exchange](http://ot5ficexchange.tumblr.com/), for the university AU prompt. This is a little light on the university-specific parts, but I hope it does your prompt justice!
> 
> Thank you, thank you to [ queuedepoisson](http://archiveofourown.org/users/queuedepoisson/pseuds/queuedepoisson) for the beta. Your editing and handholding and friendship were invaluable!

Liam's asked on exactly one date in the twenty years he grows up in Wolverhampton.

He's asked out on four the first month he moves to London.

***

He meets them at a coffee shop. It's not a fancy place. It’s not even one of those hipster places, really. Although it is full of small tables, surrounded by threadbare chairs that feel dirty under Liam's ass, and large canvases, splashed with modern swathes of neon blues and oranges, line the walls. So, hipster-light, maybe.

Liam’s never been much of a décor guy, anyway. Mostly, he comes because coffee costs fifty pence and it's only a block away from the university radio station that pays Liam a pittance to DJ the late night show. Also because the barista - the fit one with fringe artfully styled over his eyes - has this habit of watching him, as if Liam’s remarkable, as if Liam’s noticeable.

Liam shouldn’t, really, be surprised that it’s Louis’s who asks him for a date first. 

Caught between a particularly boring lecture and the prospect of a long radio show ahead of him, he's in a bit of a hurry. He must look it, too, because when he asks, gruff and a lot less gracefully than his mother taught him to be, for a "medium coffee, lots of sugar," all he gets back is a glare.

"Fifty pence and a please." Louis swipes his fringe off his forehead, so that Liam can get the full effect of the deep, icy blue of his eyes, and cocks his hip against the counter, waiting.

Liam sighs, handing over fifty pence and dropping a few extra coins into the tip jar. "Sorry," he mutters. "Long night."

Louis's entire demeanor changes, his shoulders sloping down and his face loosening into an easy, cocky grin. "I know. Late Night on Rare, right?"

Liam stares. He's only been doing that show for, like, a couple of weeks. He honestly didn’t think many people were listening, and definitely never thought they’d be listening to him. "Um, yeah, I'm on 'til two. How did you-?" 

Louis shrugs, turning to start a new pot of coffee. Liam would swear that he bends more than necessary, arching his back and pushing out his ass in his non-work appropriate skinnies; would, at least, if people did that sort of thing around Liam. 

Louis glances over his shoulder, grinning when he catches Liam looking, and Liam quickly turns his eyes to the _5 pound card minimum_ sign on the counter. "My friend, Niall, he works at the station, too. You might have noticed him? Blond. Very Irish."

Liam nods. He noticed Niall, of course he did. Niall's the loudest, most energetic, happy-go-lucky DJ in the office. He just hadn't realized that Niall noticed him. "Yeah, we, uh, call him DJ Leprechaun."

Louis laughs, great big guffaws that have him hitting his knee and crying at the corners of his eyes. "Oh, that's priceless."

"Please, um," Liam bites his lip, realizing his mistake quite a bit too late. "Don't tell him I said that, yeah? I'm new and I don't have a lot of friends and I really don't wanna get in trouble already."

Louis straightens up, eyes careful and bright, and Liam swears at himself. He's said too much. He always says too much.

Louis, though, seems to be sizing him up, torn between- Well, Liam doesn't really know what he's torn between, but he's happy when Louis finally sighs, a great, big thing, and says, as if it goes against his better judgment, "Fine, fine, but, you owe me. Big."

Liam nods, as quickly as he can. "Of course, yeah, anything."

"Good." Louis grins again, placing a large coffee in front of Liam.

"Oh, um, I only ordered a medium and I, ahh-" He digs into his pocket, coming up with a handful of lint and a guitar pick and a screw that he's pretty sure was supposed to go in his Ikea dresser. He’s been trying not to bump it too hard, just in case.

Louis waves him off. "Don't worry about it. You look like you're gonna need it."

"Oh." Liam drops his hand back into his pocket. "Thanks. That's really good of you."

"No worries." Louis's grin is glinting with a little something extra that Liam can't quite place. "Just remember that favor, ehh?"

"Course," Liam agrees, already backing away, because his phone is starting to blare Avicii and that means he's definitely gonna be late.

He doesn't notice that Louis' signed the cup - a curly heart over the "i" in “Liam,” next to his phone number printed out in big, Sharpie strokes - until Liam's at the studio, halfway into his first set and taking a moment to slip out of his coat and get a caffeine fix. 

He's staring at the signature, running his hands over the dark, thick numbers, when he's jolted back by a light, "Hey," laced with a thick Irish accent.

Liam flicks off his mic and turns in his seat to see Niall settling himself against the soundboard, all blond hair and pale skin with an Irish flag sweater stretching across his chest. He's close enough that his hip is brushing Liam's elbow, and Liam really hopes that the low studio lights hide the worst of his blush. "Ahh, hi."

"So," Niall starts, crossing his arms and staring at Liam with big, accusing eyes. "I got a text from Louis. Bragging that he got you."

"Um," Liam frowns, even as his fingers move, unconsciously, over Louis's phone number on the side of his cup. "He didn't _get_ me. I don't even know what that means."

"Oh." Niall shifts his hip even closer, his face lighting into one of the bright, sunny grins that Liam noticed weeks ago. "That's good, cause, like, I found you first, didn't I? Doesn't seem right for Louis to get the first date."

"Um," Liam says, again, sounding like a broken record to his own ears and trying, hard, to say something else. "First?" he asks, when what he really meant to ask was _date?_

Niall shrugs, but it looks a little too controlled to be natural. "Yeah, so, tomorrow night? I can get Greg to cover your shift."

"Sure," Liam's saying, automatically, before he can process what he's agreeing too.

Niall grins. "Brilliant." He reaches out to flick a button, switching to the next playlist and Liam glances back at the computer, remembering, suddenly, that he's supposed to be DJ-ing a radio show here. Niall just claps him on the back, pushing away from the soundboard, his grin never slipping. "Well, I should stop distracting you. No one likes dead air."

Liam tries not to watch him walk away, but it's hard when Niall's wearing tight grey jeans that hug his legs and fold into the crease at the tops of his thighs. 

Niall turns at the door, just long enough to catch him at it. Niall’s cheeks flush pink and he winks. "Meet you at the coffee shop at 8."

Liam turns back to his radio show, flicking on his mic and saying, as clear and unconfused as he possibly can, "Good evening London. This is DJ Payno coming to you from Rare FM. You're in for a wild night."

***

"Bout time you got laid," is all Andy says, when Liam stumbles into their shared apartment at half past two in the morning, and tells him, still more than a little shell-shocked, about both his dates.

Liam starts. He hadn’t thought much further than _they asked me_ , but now that Louis’s caffeine is wearing off, Liam can’t control the thoughts running through his mind. Things like _why me?_ and _why now?_ and, now that Andy put the idea in his head, _oh my god, I might actually get laid_.

It must show on his face, because Andy just laughs, pressing a dry, quick kiss to Liam's lips. "My little boy is growing up. Welcome to uni, Payno."

Liam recovers enough to flash Andy his middle finger before Andy disappears into his room.

***

Liam really hasn't thought this through. Like, any of it, really. Which is unlike him. Andy calls it progress, Liam calls it terrifying.

He gets to the coffee shop a little early, mostly because he hates being late, but partly because he still doesn't quite have the Tube down yet. Now, though, he's a full twenty minutes early, and he's standing awkwardly in line to order a coffee that he doesn't really want, with money he doesn't really have.

"Well well," Louis says, when Liam gets to the front of the line, his eyes gazing up and down Liam's fitted trousers and clean, dark green Henley. "You look smart."

"Yeah, um," Liam flounders. He doesn't want to say _I'm going on a date_ , not to Louis, not when he's still really hoping to get a night with Louis, too. But Liam's a terrible liar. Always has been.

Louis, though, just shakes his head, and he seems more annoyed at himself than at Liam. "Never should have bragged to Nialler. Should have known he'd jump in, sneaky bastard." He sighs, put upon and faux deep. "But, that's okay. I'll just have to top his date, won't I?"

"Um," Liam shuffles his feet. "You really don't have to-"

"Oh, but I do." Louis grins, handing over a small coffee, just the way Liam likes it. "You'll see." 

Liam hands over a few coins and Louis takes them, drawing his fingers along Liam's palm as he picks them up.

"Have a nice date," Louis says, with a wink, and Liam thanks him, profusely and awkwardly, before wandering to a table near the front, where, hopefully, he'll catch Niall when he enters.

The door opens with a crash, a chill fall breeze blowing through Liam's short hair and making him shiver. He rushes over to hold the door open for the amp and guitar case that enter ahead of- not Niall, but Harry Styles, the tall, lanky lad from Liam's postmodern lit class who always answers questions in a smart, slow, aimless drawl.

"Thanks," Harry says, letting the door click shut behind him as he blows at the tips of his red fingers.

"No problem." Liam bends down to grab the amp and stack of chords, nodding his chin at the cleared-out space next to the counter. "Over there?"

"Yeah." Harry picks up the guitar case and a large leather duffle bag, and follows Liam over to the space. "Thank you, honestly. You're a lifesaver."

"Really," Liam says, already making quick order of the chords, "it's not a big deal. I'm waiting for someone anyway."

"Alright." Harry stands up straight, getting a good look at Liam for the first time, his cheeks flushing as he takes in Liam's attire. "I'm Harry Styles." He holds out his hand.

Liam takes it. Harry's fingers are long and calloused, a little rough where his bitten nails dig into Liam's skin, but it feels good and grounding and Liam's a bit disappointed when Harry finally pulls back. "Liam Payne."

"I know. You're in my lit class, yeah?"

"Yeah," Liam says, barely hiding his surprise by dipping his head and squatting down to fiddle with the amp.

"That thing you said last week, about _Crash_ and artificial arousal?" Liam flushes, trying to remember what he said, knowing that it was probably pretty stupid, and definitely a bit naïve. Harry, though, is just giving him this intense, green stare as he squats down next to him. "It was really interesting."

"I doubt that, but, thanks."

Harry ducks his head. "Were you planning on going to the reading next week? For extra credit?"

"Yeah." Liam chuckles. "I need as much help as I can in that course."

Harry mirrors his chuckle. "Yeah, me too. So, um, wanna go?"

"Sure."

"No, um," Harry reaches over to tap Liam's knee. His fingers are still cold, even through Liam’s trousers. "Together, I mean."

"Oh." Liam's body tightens under Harry's grip. The world feels off-kilter, re-arranged, and he’s not quite steady in it yet, but he spreads his legs for balance and goes with it. "Oh, ahh, yeah, I'd like that."

"Great." Harry straightens, his long joints cracking as he draws out of his crouch.

"So," Liam starts, feeling stupidly shy all of a sudden. "Do you play here often?"

"Yeah." Harry nods to the counter, and Liam glances over to see Louis watching them, from behind the cappuccino machine. Louis's eyes narrow, and even if it seems to be more at Harry than at Liam, Liam shivers. "I know Louis and Zayn and they set me up with gigs sometimes."

"That's nice of them."

Harry snorts, reaching for his guitar and perching on a stool as he starts to tune it. "They have ulterior motives," he promises.

Liam's about to ask what Harry means, when he's interrupted by Niall's bright Irish tones.

"Hey, Styles, stay away from my man."

Liam's about to jump in, but Niall's smiling and it doesn't look fake as he leans over Harry's mic stand to press a kiss to Harry's mouth. It's a quick thing, not unlike the little friendship kisses Andy gives Liam every once in a while, only maybe, a little more. Like, maybe they’re- well, that’s okay with Liam. He can do casual, easy, non-committed. Already is, actually, what with Louis and Niall and now Harry.

He can do this, he decides, pushing away the questions and uncertainties still niggling at the back of his mind in favor of greeting Niall.

"Hey, Payno." Niall grins broader, but doesn't kiss him. Liam’s pretty disappointed about that. "Wanna get out of here? Away from this bunch of losers." As he says it, he waves at the counter, where Louis just makes a rude gesture that Liam can't quite decipher.

"Sure," Liam agrees, standing up and handing Harry the other end of the chord as he passes. "Should be all set."

Harry's fingers brush his as he reaches for the chord. "Thanks." His smile is soft and sweet as he situates the guitar on his lap, and Liam has the stupidest urge to stay here and listen to Harry play, preferably with Niall's fingers wrapped around his.

He taps the urge down, though, as Niall's hand rests gently on the small of his back.

"Have a good time tonight," Harry says, emphasis dark and syrupy around _tonight_ as if it's a warning more than well wishes.

"Oh, we will," Niall promises, fingers twisting in the back of Liam's shirt. Liam leans into Niall's side, and he's not sure if it's meant to be reassuring or a little bit possessive, but Niall flashes him the widest grin, so Liam figures it works, either way. 

He pushes Liam towards the door and doesn’t react when Harry calls, "remember to have him home by midnight," after them.

Niall takes him to the movies, the new Spiderman. Liam doesn't really care much for Andrew Garfield, but Jamie Foxx is pretty fit, and, besides, it doesn't matter much what's going on on screen. Because, after he admits, low so he doesn't piss off the patrons around them, "I'm really more of a Batman guy," Niall grins and says, "good, then you won't mind being distracted." And proceeds to put his hand on Liam's knee.

Which is nice. And warm. And nothing compared to what Liam feels an hour later, when Niall's hand inches, slowly and carefully, up the inseam of Liam's jeans. Liam sucks in a breath, the movie going both too slow and too fast, and he can't decide if he wants Niall to stop more than he wants Niall to keep going.

It's been a long time since he's had anything but his own hand on his dick, and even then it was only Sally from down the road, eighteen and curious. Sally was slight and pretty, with dainty fingers that wrapped loosely around Liam; Niall is nothing like her. He's all male, smelling of popcorn and the dust that coats the radio station, he snorts at all the funny bits of the movie, and his hand is strong and steady, a promise of something much more pleasurable in his grip. 

Liam's stiffening in his jeans, the muscles of his stomach straining to move, to arch into Niall's hand, to show Niall that he's here for this. Liam's brain, though, is ultra aware of their surroundings, of the way the whole theatre is lit up every time there's an explosion on screen, and even the loud clashes of Spiderman and Electro do little to cover the deep, heavy sounds of his breathing.

"Such a tease," Niall whispers in his ear, as if Liam's the one with his hand inches from Niall's cock, and Liam squirms, pushing close enough to brush against Niall's pinky and index fingers. Niall's fingers twitch, and Liam feels them, burning even through a thick layer of denim.

He lets out a moan, low and cut off the minute he realizes it's out, and Niall laughs, pulling his hand back. He slips it into his own jeans, arching his hips and re-arranging his dick, slipping it down his right pant leg, trying to hide a bit of how hard he is. The head is still visible, outlined in denim, and Liam closes his eyes, shifting his own hips and hoping that his trousers are just loose enough to cover the way he twitches against the rough fabric of his zipper.

When he opens them, the credits are rolling and Niall's reaching for his hand, pulling him up and out of the movie theater. They walk close, hand and elbows and hips brushing with each step, on the way back to the Tube.

"Well," Niall says, turning to face Liam, his face a little ruddy and Liam really hopes it's from more than the chill night air. "I had a really nice time."

"Me too," Liam forces out, his throat feeling sticky, catching his words like fly paper. He coughs, saying, before he can stop himself, "Doesn't have to be over yet."

Niall laughs, surprised and delighted and Liam feels his whole chest seize up with something that he can't quite place. He doesn't know what he's offering, really, but he just wants to make Niall make that noise again and again and again, as he adds, "if you'd like."

"I'd love to, but," Niall glances at his watch, frowning, "turning into pumpkins and all that. Next time, yeah?"

"Sure," Liam agrees, a little confused and feeling a lot stupid.

"Good night, Payno." Niall reaches out, cupping between Liam's legs, and it feels a lot like a promise for more, for next time, and Liam lets himself smile as Niall tightens his fingers, then lets go, walking away backwards, waving until he turns the corner and slips out of sight.

Liam doesn't notice the time until he's waiting on the train platform, fiddling with a game of Candy Crush, and realizes that it's 12:03. Just past midnight, which is strange. Harry had said something about keeping Liam out past midnight, his voice rough and teasing, but, it couldn’t have meant anything. Niall’s probably just tired.

Liam shrugs, pushing it aside as he climbs onto the Tube, grabbing the railing and allowing himself to sink into the memory of Niall's hand. 

***

"I’m sorry, I'm sorry," Louis says, again, as he plops a new drink in front of Liam. It's been over an hour since they were supposed to leave, and Liam's first complimentary drink is already cold.

"It's okay," Liam assures him, making sure to run his hand over the rim of the cappuccino, catching a bit of foam and licking it off the tip of his finger.

Louis groans. "Just- give me a moment, yeah? I'm gonna try Josh again, tell him he's fired if he doesn't get his ass here in the next fifteen minutes."

"You don't actually have the power to fire people," comes a low, steady voice behind him, and Louis turns, his eyes narrowing as he catches sight of Zayn.

"What are you doing here?"

Zayn shrugs, holding up the chalkboard in his hand. "Boss asked me to work on the signs for tomorrow, and figured I could keep Liam company for you while I do."

Louis opens his mouth to protest, his hand on his hip and his foot tapping in annoyance, when there's a crash of broken glass from behind the counter and Louis's shoulders slump. "Just-" He holds his hand out to Liam. "Don't forget about me."

"Not likely," Liam tells him, but Louis keeps his glare trained on Zayn the whole way back to the counter.

Zayn just chuckles, pulling out the seat across from Liam with his ankle. "Mind if I sit?"

"Go ahead." Liam crosses his arms over his econ book. He's been trying to revise while waiting for Louis's shift to end, but he’s pretty ready to give it up. "What are you working on?"

Zayn shrugs, pulling out a box of colored chalk and starting in on a word art-inspired latte cup. "Just the sandwich board for tomorrow."

Liam raises an eyebrow. Zany is good, like, ridiculously good. "Seems like a waste of your talents."

Zayn glances up, peering through his long eyelashes, and Liam wonders, fleetingly, if he wears mascara. "'s not all I do." He points to the canvases lining the walls.

"Really?" Liam asks. He's been admiring the art for weeks.

Zayn nods. "On a small scale, yeah." He holds the chalk loosely between his fingers and rolls up his sleeve, revealing a sleeve of tattoos. "Designed these, too."

Liam reaches forward, pausing above Zayn's skin until Zayn nods in encouragement. He drops his fingers, just his middle and index, to trace the paint splatter on the inside of Zayn's wrist.

"It's beautiful." He follows the paint splatter around to the large, colored "ZAP!" on Zayn's forearm. "I've always wanted a tattoo."

"I know a guy. If you ever want. He's good."

"Yeah, ahh," Liam's stomach twists. "Someday, yeah. I'd really like that."

"Let me know." Zayn shrugs, his skin moving under Liam's hand, and Liam can't help himself. He traces the outline of the tattoo again and again, feeling Zayn's arm tense and release under his fingers, the dark skin warm and smooth and Liam lets out a deep, heavy breath. Zayn's fingers twitch into a loose fist. "I, um, also do street stuff. For something a bit, ahh, bigger."

Liam chokes, fingers stuttering against Zayn's tattoo. He drops his voice. "Like, graffiti? Isn’t that illegal?"

"We call it tagging.” Zayn smirks. “And only if you get caught.”

“Have you?”

“Hmm?”

“Gotten caught?”

“Oh.” Zayn’s eyelids flutter as Liam moves to trace his thick, dark “9” tattoo. “Almost, a couple of times.”

“Wow. That sounds-”

“Fun?”

“Was gonna go with terrifying.” Liam shrugs. “But, fun works too.”

Zayn raises an eyebrow, conveying judgment and intrigue all in the same look, belayed a bit by the way his hand clenches, muscles fluttering under Liam’s light touches. “I can take you sometime. If you’re not too scared, that is.”

Liam frowns. He knows Zayn’s pushing him, backing him into a corner, but Liam’s been taking boxing lessons for years and he’s never not parlayed when baited. "Just 'cause I've never done anything illegal doesn’t mean I couldn't."

Zayn reaches out, catching Liam's hand and leaning forward, across the table. "Prove it."

"Alright."

"Tomorrow. 21:00."

"See you then.”

Louis clears his throat behind them, voice stiff. "I see you met Zayn.”

Zayn's skin suddenly feels dangerous, illicit, and Liam pulls back as quickly as he can, shoving out of his chair and greeting Louis with something that he hopes is a smile. "Yeah, we were, ahh, talking about art."

"Hmm." Louis purses his lips, eyes trained past Liam to where Zayn's already holding the chalk again. "Zee's good, isn't he?"

Liam isn't sure if Louis means at art or at, well, something a bit dirtier, but it's true either way. He nods. "He is."

Louis huffs and, instinctively, Liam moves closer to him.

"Ready?"

"Yeah." Louis slips his index finger through the belt loop at Liam's hip. "'Night, Zee."

Zayn nods absently, "Night," then, without looking up from his chalkboard. "Don't forget the rules, Lou."

Louis stops, pulling Liam's arm up so he can read the time on Liam's watch. His fingers are warm and insistent on Liam's skin and he can barely keep back a shiver. "It's already late."

Zayn shrugs. "Not my problem."

Louis huffs out a, "fine," between his teeth, before pulling Liam away and out into the chill air. Liam shivers again.

"It's Saturday night," Liam says, slowly, as they walk side-by-side. He lilts into Louis's side, partially for body heat, partially because he likes Louis's quick, possessive moments. "I don't have anywhere to be in the morning."

Louis hums between his lips, turning to press a quick kiss behind Liam's ear. "Buddy of mine's throwing a party for the footie team, should be in full swing by now. Was gonna take you to dinner, woo you a bit first, but," Louis shrugs, indicating _circumstances out of my control_ , "Mind if I bring you?"

Liam shivers, again, at the implications of going to the party with Louis, as Louis's, and nods.

Louis grins, as if everything else is forgotten, and pulls Liam down the street, to the row of frat houses that, honestly, Liam never thought he'd ever step foot in. He was always pretty certain, actually, that he'd spend the bulk of his uni years studiously avoiding them.

"Hey, Tommo," they're greeted as they enter, by a loud, thunderous voice. "Catch."

Louis loosens his hold on Liam long enough to catch two beers that come flying their way. He opens his one-handed, before holding the other out for Liam. It’s a casual, practiced movement and he looks comfortable here, like he belongs. It puts Liam on edge.

"Come on, there's usually some space downstairs."

He leads Liam down the stairs to a basement full of worn couches and old leather armchairs. There are only a couple of guys down here, one with a girl spread on top of him, his hands on her ass, another dangling a joint between his fingers.

"Tommo." He greets, holding out the joint, and Louis takes it, putting it to his lips for a long, slow, puff.

"Payno?" He holds it out to Liam, and Liam shouldn't. He's only smoked a couple times before, has no idea of his limits, or even where this stuff came from, but he's feeling overwhelmed: wound up, unable to forget the feel of Zayn's tattoos itching under his fingers and the warm brand of Louis's hand on his hip; off-kilter, surrounded by the types of guys who used to torment him in grade school. 

So he leans forward, lets Louis place the joint between his lips, and takes a long draw. 

Then a second. 

And a third.

He coughs - deep, wracking things - when he pulls back, and Louis laughs, handing the joint back and pulling Liam to one of the leather chairs.

They squeeze onto it, Liam holding his weight on his hip to make room for Louis, who throws a leg over Liam's thigh and pulls him close. "How do you feel?"

"High," Liam admits, as the world fuzzes, a bit, at the edges, his vision going blurry and unfocused.

"Good," Louis grins, slow and smooth. "It'll hurry things along."

Liam’s not sure what they’re hurrying towards, but his ears are a bit blurred and Louis's grinning at him, so he lets the thought go and laughs.

Louis tugs at Liam’s hair, a sharp, focal point of pain, and Liam gasps onto it, grasping onto Louis as a steady, grounding force. His hands scramble at Louis's back, slipping under his shirt and holding onto the back of his jeans. Louis laughs with him. "I like you like this."

"Hmm." Liam buries his lips in Louis's skin, mouthing at his collarbone and feeling Louis arch into him. Louis groans, sounding loud in his ear, pulling him up for a kiss, teeth and lips clashing, and Liam breathes deeply into Louis's mouth, his own wet and slack, as if he can't quite control his movements.

Louis isn’t the solid foundation Liam’s trying to cling to. He’s hot and sweaty and limber, never still under Liam’s hands. It’s hot and terrifying as Liam sinks further and further into his haze.

Louis shifts, curling his leg at the knee, pressing into Liam's thighs and pulling him closer, close enough to feel Louis, pulsing hot and insistent against Liam's leg. Louis arches his body, loose and flexible, brushing against the length of Liam's body, and Liam didn't realize how hard he was until he feels Louis's thigh brush the length of him, as he leaks steadily in his jeans.

"Fuck, Louis," he breathes into Louis's mouth, feeling stupid and reckless, the points their bodies are touching the only clear spots in his hazy vision.

"Hey, hey," Louis murmurs, gentling him, his fingers scraping against Liam's hips, leaving dark, red scratches in Liam's skin, pulling him up and forward and Liam goes, biting and kissing at Louis's jaw line, moving his hips in a thick, heavy rhythm, as if he's stuck in quicksand but burning with need.

"I want- Please, Lou, I need-"

"Yeah, yeah, okay, I got you." Louis drops his hand to Liam's belt, flicking it open in three tries, the only sign that Louis is as affected as Liam is. And Liam doesn’t even care if it's the pot, or if it's Louis himself, but he lets his body move on its own, shaking and pushing into Louis's hand. The friction is amazing, and he wants Louis to feel good, too, so he thrashes around until he has his palm flat and tight between Louis's legs.

"Shit, shit, Li," Louis keens, pushing into it, helping with the top button of his jeans. He pulls them open at the same time as he slips his boxers down, and Liam wraps his hand around Louis's dick. He's never done this before, never with a guy, and he never imagined it would be so hot and hard and wet. He keeps his fingers light, exploring, trying to build a memory of Louis that will last through the fog of the night.

He's just tightening his fist, pumping once, twice, to see how Louis will react, when they're interrupted.

"Hey, Tommo, not on the furniture."

Louis lifts his hand from where he's been tugging at Liam through his trousers, his middle finger raised. "Fuck off, Al."

"Frat rules, you know that." Al's a big, burly guy with hands twice the size of Louis's and the ottoman dips under his weight. He rests one hand on Louis's knee and the other on Liam's and Liam shies away, sitting up and ignoring the way the world is spinning as he does up the belt that Louis's managed to mostly undo.

With a sigh, Louis follows suit, his dick bouncing against his stomach, leaving a wet smudge on his dark work t-shirt, before he shoves himself into his boxers and forces his zipper closed around himself. He shifts, clearly uncomfortable. "Evening, Al. Nice raver."

Al shrugs. "So far. This a new one?" He nods at Liam.

Liam stiffens under Al's dark, measured eyes.

"Yeah." Louis places a hand on Liam's knee. "This is Liam."

"Nice."

"Fuck off."

"How many is it this time?" Al asks, as if this is a common occurrence, as if Louis brings guys to the basement of this frat house and tries to fuck them often enough for it to become a pattern.

"It's not- like that." Louis licks his lips, his fingers tightening on Liam's hip. He looks awkward and uncomfortable for the first time since Liam's known him, and Liam's whole body tightens in warning. He's been here before. He knows how this ends. "'s different."

Liam doesn’t know what _different_ means, he doesn't know what he's different from, but he knows guys like Al, knows them intimately, and Liam needs to get out of here. He scrambles up, reaching out to catch himself, unsteadily, on the edge of the chair for a moment, before he makes his way upstairs. It's loud and hot and the floor is sticky under his feet. It's the only thing he can focus on without Louis's body, warm and slick and so responsive, under his hands.

Liam swears, digging out his phone as he makes it outside. His fingers feel big and clumsy as he pulls up a text message to Andy, typing out _come get me plz_ slowly and carefully.

He gets back _where?_ almost immediately.

Liam glances behind him, at the giant Greek letters on the house, and takes a quick picture, sending it off before letting his phone fall to the ground next to him. The sweat is cooling underneath his clothes, and he shivers, enjoying the haziness a lot less now that his mind is traitorously replaying the events downstairs, rather than focusing on the murky feel of Louis underneath him.

He doesn't know how much time passes before Louis joins him, sitting next to him in the grass, careful not to touch. "Hey, Li, come on, come back inside."

Liam shakes his head. "Andy's coming to get me." His voice feels thick and far away.

"Oh. That's- that's good."

"What-?" Liam doesn't want to ask, but he wants to know. "What did Al mean, inside?"

Louis shrugs, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them. "It's nothing, just a stupid game we play, sometimes. He's an asshole."

Liam can't argue with that.

"I shouldn't have brought you here. Haz warned me this was a bad idea and- fuck, I'm sorry."

Liam shrugs, his mind stumbling over Harry's name.

"I thought it would- thought you needed to lighten up a bit."

Liam flinches. He’s heard that, over and over again, from his parents, his sisters, his friends, from his teachers when he told them that he was being bullied. It's one of the reasons, honestly, that he followed Andy to London, to get out from under the weight of his parents' expectations and his rough, painful memories of Wolverhampton. "I do."

Liam doesn't know how long they sit there before Andy walks up, carrying an extra coat.

Louis stands, offering his hand. "Louis."

"Andy." Andy takes Louis's hand, quickly, before pulling Liam up and draping the coat over his shoulders. "You okay?"

Liam nods. "Can we-?"

Andy nods, leading Liam back to the Tube. Liam only glances back once, but Louis's still sitting on the grass, looking miserable.

***

Liam thinks about skipping the coffee shop the next day. He feels caught between anger at Louis and annoyance at himself, not at all helped by the way Andy just laughs in the face of his hangover when he comes down for breakfast feeling waxy and tight and achy.

"This is what uni's all about, innit?"

Liam just shrugs. He was always pretty straight-laced back in Wolverhampton, driven and focused on doing well in school so that he could get out of there, too scared of being outed to indulge in alcohol or drugs or boys. Now that he's done it, though, now that's gotten out, he's not really sure what he's supposed to be doing here. 

He had thought- well, he still does think, a little, that what he's doing with the lads, that it's important. Something casual and experimental and for him, just for him. A chance to figure himself out, in an environment where no one looks twice at two lads holding hands or kissing on the sidewalk. 

And these boys- they want him, or, they seem to want him to be at least a little part of whatever it is they have going on. And Liam likes them. He likes Niall's easy smile and Zayn's slow charm and Louis's brashness and Harry's long fingers and unerring nice-ness.

Despite Louis's misplaced definition of 'fun,' Liam's not ready to give any of that up. Not yet at least.

Besides, his hangover is bashing through his head like a rogue bludger, and surely the least Louis owes him is a large black coffee to coat the insides of his skull.

He’s around the corner from the coffee shop, rubbing at his temples to hold over both his headache and the chill in the air, when he hears Harry’s voice drifting around the corner. It’s lower than usual, deep and dark with anger, but unmistakably Harry. 

“Where were you thinking? I told you it was a stupid idea, but- you just don’t care about the rest of us, do you?”

Liam peers around the corner to see Harry, his face flushed and hands pushed deep in his pockets, leaning over Louis, who’s frowning, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Liam starts, just a little, seeing Louis, unharmed and not even looking worse for wear. Looking, in fact, kind of smug.

"Just wanted to have a bit of fun, in the little time I had."

Harry pulls his hands from his pockets, gesturing widely. "The midnight thing was your rule, Lou." He sounds incredulous, annoyed, and Liam doesn’t both tapping down the little, happy thrill he gets, knowing that someone is yelling at Louis, even if he is a little too insecure and green to do it himself.

"I know, I know." Louis frowns. "Thought it would hurt you and Zee, long before it hurt me."

Harry rolls his eyes. "You're so fucking selfish." Liam cringes, but he can’t argue with that.

"Fuck off." Louis shuffles his feet. "'Sides, hurt me most, didn't it?"

Harry shrugs, and Liam can almost see the anger still rising off of him. "That remains to be seen. If you just-"

He trails off and Liam’s curious about what he was going to say. So much so that he almost steps out, to make himself known, to ask. Louis beats him to it, though, putting his hands on his hips and glaring daggers at Harry. "What? Just, say what you were gonna say, Haz."

Harry's eyes blaze. "If you ever thought about things other than yourself- If you ever thought about things at all, about things that matter-"

"I know this matters, fuck you. I like him, really like him. Wouldn't be such a problem if I didn't, yeah?"

Liam freezes. Is that- _him_ , spoken like that, the night after he and Louis did- whatever it was he and Louis did- that can only mean Liam. And Liam kind of knew that already, from the way the conversation was going. And he already knew that they knew each other, were friends; more than friends, even. But, still, to have Harry and Louis talk about him like this, with so much anger and affection and-

Liam reaches out to steady himself against the rough brick of the building.

Around the corner, Harry sighs, his posture loosening. "If, just, if it only affected you- but it doesn't. It affects all of us. And I just- I wish you got that."

Louis's body tenses, but his voice is low, resigned. "It became _us_ a long time ago. When are you gonna get that, asshole?"

He slams into the coffee shop and Harry stands on the sidewalk, tugging his fingers into his curls for a long moment, before he turns on his heel and walks away. 

Liam’s more than a little dazed as he heads to the station. He can’t get Louis’s voice out of his head, low and sad and all those things Liam’s always assumed lay behind his brash attitude, and he doesn’t think he would face that right now.

They’ll be coffee at the station. Cheap, one-packet pot coffee, but that sounds just about perfect right now. 

***

Zayn is already there when Liam gets off the Tube. He's leaning against the building, a large canvas bag slumped between his legs, the cigarette hanging between his lips the only light illuminating his face. He looks like something out of one of those John Wayne movies Liam's dad likes so much, and Liam's moving forward before he can talk himself out of it. Again.

He's spent the afternoon going over things in his mind. The feel of Louis's skin the night before, then the low, dark, dirty feeling of Al's hand. The deep, dangerous murmur of Harry arguing, then the sad, loose slope of Louis's shoulders afterwards. The way Liam felt – tired, bruised, and closeted – in Wolverhampton, and the warm, desired, feeling of belonging he gets each time he hears Niall's laugh or sees the artwork on Zayn's body. 

And Liam still doesn't get it. He doesn't understand, really, why they want him. And he doesn't know when he started wanting them in return. But he does.

So, he's decided to stop overthinking and go with it. Or, he’s mostly decided, at least. He almost turned around a couple Tube stops away, but he’s here, now, and he straightens his shoulders.

He steps in front of Zayn, pulling the cigarette from between his lip and snubbing it out, so he can lean forward to slot his mouth against Zayn's and take control of the situation.

Zayn tilts his head, his hand coming up to hold Liam in place and slip his tongue between Liam's lips. His fingernails rake against Liam's scalp, and Liam tilts back into it, feeling raw and open, laid out in front of Zayn at the same time as he presses into him, Zayn's knee pressing against his thigh, teasing higher and higher, until he stops, pulling his mouth from Liam's and grinning, wide and sloppy.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"So, um, that was nice." Zayn pushes his knee in, quickly, before dropping his leg and stepping away from the wall. "But, we've got a wall to tag."

Liam straightens himself, running his fingers over his swollen lips as he follows Zayn down a dark alleyway to an empty square. Liam glances around them nervously, turning full-circle to make sure that no one's followed them. Namely, like, a cop, or someone else intimately tied to the law.

"No one comes here after seven," Zayn assures him, as he drops his bag on the ground, next to a large piece of graffiti. It's a massive, colorful girl, bending to drop a daisy petal into what looks like the sewer, when seen from far away. Liam takes a step forward, pressing his hand to the wall, amazed by the change in perspective up close.

"It's beautiful." He glances back at Zayn, who's already pulling cans of spray paint out of the bag. "Is your stuff like this?"

Zayn glances at the graffiti and frowns. "Everyone's tag is different."

"Right. Of course." Liam backtracks, getting the feeling he said something offensive or derogatory. "I didn't mean to imply- just, sorry."

"No big deal." Zayn grabs a can of paint, shaking it vigorously before handing it to Liam.

"Um." Liam looks at the can. Magenta. "Do you want me to shake it? More?"

Zayn's shaking a second can – orange – and he nods at the wall. "I want you to tag it."

Liam's spine tingles, and he whips around, expecting to see a police car racing towards them, lights and alarm blaring. There's nothing but a cat scurrying across the street.

Zayn draws a wide swath of color with the can. It makes a hissing, paint splatter sound and Liam jumps back from the wall. "Couldn't you have chosen something a little less- obvious?"

Zayn drops his can for another. Sky blue. "This is fun."

"Right." Liam watches Zayn paint a giant neon wolf, with fur in blues and reds and oranges, its tail ending with the girl's daisy as its tip. He finishes with the wolves' ears, in a bright green that glows in the low light, and steps back.

"Cool, yeah?"

"What does it mean?"

"'s just cool." Zayn bends down, rolling up his pant leg to reveal the same design, covering most of his left shin. Liam bends down, reaching out to trace the lines, black and colorless but still the same. Zayn's skin is warm and smooth, dark under the ink and trembling as Liam presses his thumb deeper into the muscle. "Liam," Zayn whispers, a warning Liam's not sure he wants to heed.

There's something else he has to do first, though. He gets to his feet, reaching for the can of paint, starting in, slow and painstakingly, on the wall. 

It doesn’t look much like a feather. The cans are clumsy in his hand, thick and wobbly, and his hands are still shaking a bit with the fear of getting caught, even as he dick pulses, absently, in his pants. He feels stronger as he paints it, though, feeling furtive and powerful, his resentment at authority and Wolverhampton and his old classmates leaking out in swathes of neon.

He paints until the cans are done, deep, dark swatches of color that he hopes will sink permanently into the brick. He squats, shaking out the last of the blue into the stem of the feather, when he feels Zayn's hands on his shoulders.

"What does it mean?" He repeats Liam's question, his voice low and gentle.

"It's-" Liam looks up. "My grandmother loved feathers."

Zayn pulls at his shoulders, until Liam's standing, back to his tag, and Zayn leaning into his chest. "Tell me if you need me to stop," Zayn murmurs against Liam's mouth, before pressing his knee up and in, thrusting between Liam's legs.

"I’m-" Liam breathes, pressing his lips into Zayn's collarbone, his hips meeting Zayn's rhythm. "I'm good."

Zayn hums into Liam's ear, reaching up to tug at his lobe, the bright blue paint lingering on Zayn's thumb rubbing into Liam's skin, leaving long lines of blue down Liam's neck and chest, disappearing under his collar, tagging him the same way Zayn tagged the wall.

Liam likes that, wants it, and he reaches forward, grabbing at Zayn's lower arms and wrapping his fingers around them, leaving dots of orange and yellow and red, neon standing out rough and crude over the careful lines of Zayn's tattoos.

He looks at his work, focusing carefully on his marks, running his hands over them and making them run and smear. Liam can feel the wet paint on his back, rubbing off the layers Liam poured into the wall and onto Liam's back, coating the cotton of his shirt and smearing against his neck, before drying and cracking.

Liam feels like canvas, like something Zayn might paint, like something Zayn might want to paint, if his high grunts and moans are any indication. It feels illicit, doing this where anyone can catch them, covered in their recrimination, and Liam bites at Zayn's lower lip, catching it between his teeth and whining.

"Fuck, Li, I never thought you'd-" Zayn kisses him, hard and dangerous, his hips stuttering into Liam's and Liam's dick leaps. He's been hard for an hour, ever since he kissed the nicotine out of Zayn's mouth back at the Tube stop, hot and leaking into his boxers as he painted, every layer of spray paint that he didn't get caught urging him on, every layer closer he got to getting caught twitching through his dick.

Liam grinds his hips in slow, desperate jerks, and Zayn reaches down, slipping his hands under Liam's shirt and grasping at his wet, heated skin. Liam surges forward and Zayn gentles him with soft touches, his thumbs running circles over Liam's skin, skittering over the red, rough scratches marring Liam's hips.

Zayn freezes, lifting Liam's shirt and looking down. Liam falls forward, pressing his forehead to Zayn's collarbone and watching as Zayn traces the wounds with his middle fingers, painting them with long swathes of sky blue and magenta.

"Who?" Zayn asks, finally, and Liam tries to ignore him, pressing down against Zayn's thigh, held still and steady against the wall.

"It doesn't matter." Liam can't think right now, not behind the feel of Zayn's mouth on his, and the pulses of heat between his legs. "Don't worry about it."

Zayn, though, keeps his mouth slack, huffing out, "Harry?"

"No."

"Who?"

Zayn will figure it out on his own soon, so Liam murmurs, "Louis," before he can.

Louis's name is swallowed in a rush of air as Zayn tightens his hands, pulling Liam's hips forward, dragging him along the bulk of Zayn's thigh until their dicks crash in a sea of heat and denim. Liam groans, mouth slackening against Zayn's, burying his cries in Zayn's skin.

"I don't-" Liam's breath punches out in deep, heavy pants. He can only hope that Zayn is as close as he is as he feels the heat pool low in his stomach. "Fuck, Zayn, I'm gonna-"

Zayn's hands slip on Liam's skin, running up and down his sides, feeling along his abs and pressing, just the tips of his fingers, under Liam's boxers. His fingers feel wet and cool, paint drying instantly on Liam's heated skin, cracking into shards of color, reminders that, for now at least, Liam is here, with Zayn, feeling these things with _Zayn_. 

Liam arches into it. His dick catches against Zayn's, rubbing in jilted, clumsy circles. Zayn responds in choked off moans and whimpers, his tone high and broken and, fuck, Liam feels more powerful than he has in a long, long time.

He flattens his palm between Zayn's legs, wanting to feel what he's doing to Zayn, needing to see, for certain, that he's the one doing it. Zayn bucks into his hand, a wet spot just at the tip of Liam's finger, and Liam's eyes flutter shut as he comes, his hips thrusting rhythmically against Zayn's thigh as he works himself through it.

Zayn doesn't really wait for him to come down as he thrusts against Liam's palm and his limp body. He pulls Liam's hips forward, thrusting against Liam's sensitive dick, and Liam's grunting, squirming his hips back as Zayn's hips stutter and he lets out a low keening sound as he thrusts for another few, short minutes, and comes.

"Mmm, I won," Zayn whispers, chuckling against Liam's lips, before kissing him.

"Won what?" Liam asks, his body feeling loose and slinky, and he's grateful for the wall to keep him up.

Zayn doesn't answer, and Liam forgets to ask again as he comes down, catching his breath and righting himself in his clothes. He's covered in paint, his clothes sticking to his skin, sweat and paint drying in long, cracking reminders across his body.

"You look a right mess," Andy tells him, when he stumbles in an hour or so later. "And it's long past two in the morning. You were supposed to text or summit."

"Sorry." Liam toes his shoes off in the entryway, leaving outlines of size nines in orange spray paint. "Got delayed."

"Delayed," Andy repeats, his eyes narrowing.

"Doing things uni lads are supposed to be doing?" He tries and Andy sighs, put-upon and proud.

"I've taught you too well, 'aven't I?"

"Only learn from the best, I say."

"Twat."

Andy's grinning though, and Liam takes it as approval as he slips down the hallway and into the shower.

***

The next morning, Liam’s feeling good, strong, armed with the knowledge of how he - ordinary, simple Liam from Wolverhampton - took Zayn apart and put him back together again. It’s fortifying enough, even, that he pushes into the coffee shop, humming under his breath and willing to forgive Louis almost anything.

"I'm sorry," Louis greets him, double-fisting two large coffees and shoving them into Liam's hands before he can even get in line.

Liam accepts them, taking a sip. It's sweet and creamy, exactly how he likes it. "It's okay. I shouldn't have, like, freaked out like that."

Louis scratches the back of his head. "I don't- sometimes I don’t think things through."

Liam can't disagree with that. He shrugs.

"So, um," Louis ducks his head, glancing at Liam through his fringe. "Am I forgiven?" He asks, carefully, before quickly adding, "coffee's still on me for the rest of the month, of course."

"Would be an idiot to turn that down."

"And you're not an idiot," Louis agrees, tipping forward on the balls of his feet and Liam's pretty sure that Louis's about to kiss him. Liam’s pretty sure he’ll let him, too.

But then the door's opening behind them, bringing with it cold air and the smell of fresh pastries. Before Liam can turn, he feels a hand on his hip, a quick squeeze from thin fingers and Liam's not likely to forget the feel of that hand.

"Hey." He hopes his voice isn't shaking as badly as he thinks it is. He isn’t feeling nearly as confident as he was a few minutes ago. Getting off, wrapped up in his own mind and Zayn's talented hands, is one thing late at night, in a deserted part of the city; it's quite another thing standing in the bright entryway of the public coffee shop, patrons pushing around them and Louis staring at him like he's popped Louis's favorite football.

Zayn presses a kiss to the back of Liam's neck, reaching for one of the coffees, and Liam flushes.

Louis looks from Liam, to Zayn's face over his shoulder, and swears, "Shit," before his shoes squeak and he's gone.

"He okay?" Liam asks, turning to look at Zayn properly.

"Don't worry about him." Zayn takes a sip and frowns. "Fuck, this is sweet."

Liam shrugs. "Masks the taste."

"Mmm, can think of better things for that." Zayn pulls him forward, into a long, claiming kiss that Liam almost forgets to be embarrassed about. "Have a good day," Zayn murmurs, as he pulls back, a quick, easy edge to his step as he heads to work.

***

Liam gets to the poetry reading a bit early, hoping to have a little extra time with Harry before it starts. He hasn't seen much of Harry the last few days. He hasn't seen much of any of the boys, actually, save for daily texts from Zayn, and he misses them. All of them. 

But that's not something he's really ready to deal with yet, so he pushes it aside, reaching for two Dixie cups of terrible coffee and a plate of sugar cookies. He finds Harry holding two seats close to the back, and offers him one of the cups.

"Thanks." Harry reaches for it, his fingers brushing against Liam's, and Liam can see the way he shivers, just a quick, little thing that rocks through his hand as he pulls it back, as if Liam sparked him. "Sorry, I-" Harry drops his head. "I shouldn't even be here," he finishes, softly, as he grabs for his coat.

Liam frowns. "What?"

"I, um, I lost," Harry says, his voice low, avoiding Liam's eyes, and Liam has to lean forward to catch what he's saying. "Before I even had a chance, really, and, we could have been good, yeah?, but, it doesn't matter and-"

"Harry." Liam touches his fingers to Harry's wrist and Harry closes his eyes, shying away. Liam pulls his hand back, confused and uncertain, feeling every bit the shy, inexperienced boy he was a month ago; the boy he still is, really, coming in his pants against the side of a building aside. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean- If you don't want-"

Harry finally catches his eyes, the corners of his mouth twisting down in offense. "It's not a matter of what I want."

Liam sips the awful coffee, just to have something to do with his hands, so that Harry can't see how badly he's shaking. Because he doesn't get it. Harry talks in circles, all bright, dimpled smiles, oozing charm, and Liam didn't get it before, didn't get why Harry would want him, and he doesn't get it now, why Harry's backing out and- well, he guesses he should have expected this, really. "I'll go."

"No," Harry says quickly. "This is for class credit, no use in missing out on that. Just, sit, yeah?"

"I don't understand you." Liam shakes his head, but he curls himself into the chair next to Harry, anyway. Harry's limbs are long and loose, his knees spread and elbows everywhere, but he doesn't seem to want to be touched. He shied away, in fact, when Liam tried. So, Liam folds in on himself, crossing his legs and pulling them away from Harry's body, holding himself still and proper.

The reading is boring. Liam doesn’t really like poetry much, but this is particularly boring, read by an old man, spectacles slipping down his nose and voice monotone. Liam's head bobs, and he drops his chin to his chest, closing his eyes and hoping that their professor isn't watching close enough to deduct points for sleeping.

He doesn’t know how long he's out before Harry elbows him in the ribs, his smile small and sincere. "You were snoring."

"Oh, ahh," Liam wipes at his mouth, straightening in his chair. "Thanks for waking me."

"No problem." Harry's still smiling at him. "Late nights at the station?"

"Um-" Liam considers lying, but Harry's still looking at him as if he wants him, and it isn't fair. Liam's confused enough as it is, without Harry adding to his problems, and, fuck this. "No. Still getting over my date with Zayn the other night."

"Oh." Harry straightens, pulling away from Liam's chair, suddenly very interested in the way his hands are twisting in his lap.

"Wore me out," Liam continues, pushing at Harry, pressing his buttons and watching for reactions that he doesn’t understand. "Didn't get home 'til half past two."

That catches Harry's attention, as he turns his whole body toward Liam's, reaching out to rest his hands on Liam's knees. "Half past two? Not midnight?”

Liam shrugs. 

“No, no, think. This is really important."

"Ahh, no, was definitely past midnight." Liam frowns. "Why does it matter?"

"Oh, thank god." Harry sighs, his shoulders slumping like a great weight has been lifted. He hurries to pull out his phone, typing out something that Liam thinks says _Zayn cheated, still on !!_ as he reads it upside down, before Harry shoves it into his back pocket and drapes his arm over Liam's chair, his fingers drawing circles on Liam's shoulder.

It’s such a complete and utter turn around from Harry’s standoffish behavior.

Liam stares at Harry's hand. "What did that mean? The text?"

"Means I've still got a shot." Harry grins, looking so happy that Liam doesn't push him on it as he settles against Harry's side to wait out the rest of the reading.

When it's over, and they're walking back to the station for Liam's shift, coffees clutched in their gloved hands, Harry apologizes, quietly. "I really am sorry, about earlier. I just- got confused, is all."

"It's okay." Liam turns to face him. He has a large, brown hat perched on his head and is draped in an expensive looking coat that Liam's pretty sure he picked up at a Good Will. He looks ridiculous, but something low and happy twists in Liam's belly. "I'm pretty new to this stuff, so-"

Harry looks surprised. "New, as in-?"

"I've never, um, really, done much of anything. In general." Liam plays with the lid of his cup, staring at his fingers studiously. "Wolverhampton's a pretty small town."

"Fuck, Li- Can I kiss you?" Harry's voice is low, gentle, and Liam looks up to see that he's genuinely asking. "Would that be alright?"

Liam nods, and Harry leans across their cups to press their mouths together. Harry kisses like he talks, slow and unhurried, a little roundabout, and Liam finds that he fails every time he tries to predict the movements of Harry's lips. So, he sinks into it, lets Harry lead, 'til he's drunk on Harry's mouth, swaying into him when Harry pulls away.

Harry's smile leaks into his voice as he presses a last, quick, kiss to Liam's mouth. "'Til next time, Liam Payne."

Liam watches him go, touching his hands to his lips and still feeling Harry there, warm and slow and gentle.

"Oi." Niall opens the station door, shivering in just his t-shirt and frowning at Liam. "Get your ass in here. We're on in a few."

"We?" Liam asks, as he follows Niall inside, tingling as his body starts to warm up.

Niall nods, falling into the chair Liam usually sits in. "I switched shifts. Awful hours, the afternoon show, can't get anything done. So, late night co-hosts. How does that sound?"

He holds out his fist and Liam bumps it, grinning. He's missed Niall, almost as much as he'd missed Harry.

"Brilliant."


	2. Chapter 2

"I don't know how I'm supposed to choose," Liam whines, mouth half full of Frosted Flakes, a couple weeks later.

Andy shrugs, grabbing the coffee pot and putting it in the middle table. It's a good plan, as Liam fills his mug for the third time. He'd stayed up pretty late with Louis the night before, making out in the back room when Louis was supposed to be doing after-hours inventory. Liam plays at his bottom lip, wiping off a drop of coffee and remembering how Louis kisses, hard and fast, with an energy that Liam can barely keep up with. So different from Zayn's drunken kisses and Harry's slow, unhurried movements and-

Liam blushes, turning back to his cereal. "I'm worried I'm leading them on."

"Are you?"

Liam shrugs. He honestly- "I don't know. Doesn't feel like it, but-"

Andy reaches out to grab the pot before Liam can finish it off. "They know about each other, right?"

"Yeah." Liam frowns. "I'm not, like, a complete dick."

"Well." Andy tilts his head, considering, and Liam flings a spoonful of soggy flakes at his head. They land with a squelch on the oven door and Andy laughs at him. "Seriously, though, if you're not hiding anything then-" He shrugs, as if Liam should be able to fill in the blanks.

He's never been so great at that, though. "Then what?"

"Maybe you- I don't know, maybe you don't have to choose."

"You mean-?" Liam remembers that little twinge of something he felt that first day, when Niall had kissed Harry, all casual like. He remembers it a lot, in his weaker moments, mostly after he's had a lot of alcohol, or after he's spent a particularly frustrating date with one of the lads and come home to finish himself off. He can't quite make sense of those thoughts yet, tangled in limbs and mouths, so he pushes it aside and, instead, speaks the saner – at least he hopes, saner – thought he's been having lately. "You think I could, like, date them all?"

"Date? Sure." Andy leans forward, piercing Liam with that stare that means Liam's being particularly thick about this. "Have some fun with? Definitely."

"Just fun, huh?"

"There's no 'just' in fun." Andy makes air quotes, screwing up his face so that Liam knows exactly how much he's judging him. "Enjoy yourself."

"I know, I know, I just- I'm a commitment guy, you know?" Not that he’s ever had the chance to put that to the test, but he’s always figured, if he were to find someone, that he’d be pretty committed pretty quickly.

"Were a commitment guy." Andy spreads his hands. "New place, new school, new people. They don't know anything about you, Li. You can be anyone you want here."

"The non-commitment guy," Liam says, slowly, twisting his tongue around the words.

“Casual," Andy offers. 

"Casual." It sounds too good to be true, too much of what he wants, too close to whatever's itching just below his skin. "And- I don't have to choose?"

"Nope."

"Huh."

***

Liam thinks about it a lot over the next few days. Tries, even, to push the boys on it a little. His carefully worded, "I had a nice date with Louis the other night," only gets a shrug from Zayn, though. And when he shows up at Niall's flat with bruises the size of Harry's fingerprints on his hips, Niall just laughs around his, "possessive twat," and proceeds to kiss all thoughts of Harry out of Liam's mind.

He's still a bit wrapped up in his thoughts when he gets to the station a little early, shivering under the November chill, and wiping his feet in the entryway.

"Hiya," Grimmy greets him, clipping his headphones around his neck and throwing Liam a wave and a thumbs up.

Liam waves back, rolling his eyes at the Train song Grimmy is playing, before continuing into Studio B to drop his bag. He's a little bit early, and he hopes to finish up the evening's playlist before Niall gets in and, well, distracts him.

Problem is, Niall's already there. And he's already distracted, perched on the mustard yellow couch, holding his weight on his knees on either side of Zayn's thighs. Zayn's fingers are curled into Niall's belt loops, half his hand slipped under Niall's t-shirt, just above the bunched muscles of Niall's ass.

Liam should move.

He should take a few steps back, use the time to teach Grimmy a lesson or two about indie music, grant Zayn and Niall a bit of privacy.

There's nothing Liam wants to do less. This is- this is exactly what he’s been trying not to think about, in the dark of his own bedroom. But, they’re here, in front of him, illuminated by the low station light, sounds loud and real in Liam’s ears.

He watches as Niall groans - the noise going straight to Liam's dick - and pushes into Zayn's hand. Liam knows what that feels like, to grasp at Niall's damp, pale skin, clinging to that perfect dip at the small of his back, and he watches as Zayn arches of the couch, fingers tightening against Niall's back, just as Liam's would, leaving spots of yellow and purple paint on the hem of Niall's shirt.

Liam wants. He wants to be sitting under Niall, feeling the way Niall's thighs tighten around his, wrap his fingers in Niall's hair and pull their mouths together. He wants to be holding himself over Zayn, feeling his biceps bunch and ache with the effort of holding himself still under Zayn's hands. And, more than either of those, he just wants to watch as they respond to each others' bodies, practiced and familiar, like they've touched each other a thousand times before.

He's shocked to feel how jealous he is of that intimacy, not because they're together, but because he's not there yet, with either of them.

Liam wants to get there. He’s pretty willing to work for it, too.

Niall rises himself onto his knees, and Liam can make out the thickening outline of his dick in his sinfully tight jeans, and Liam reaches down to adjust himself.

He doesn't realize he's made a noise until Zayn pulls back, fingers tightening around Niall's belt and jutting his chin in Liam's direction. Niall glances over his shoulder, and it seems impossible, but his smile brightens as he catches sight of Liam.

"Hey, Li." Zayn's voice is high, mellow, arousal wrapped around Liam's name, the same way his body is wrapped around Niall's.

"Sorry, I should go. I-" He points behind him, but before he can take a step back, Niall untangles his fingers from Zayn's hair and beckons Liam over.

Liam waffles for a moment, but Zayn's lips are swollen and bruised, and Liam's kneeling on the couch and kissing him before he makes a decision. Zayn's mouth opens under his, moaning around Liam's tongue and reaching out to wrap his hand around Liam's hip, pulling him closer so his chest is pressed against Niall's side.

A smaller hand wraps itself in the hair at the back of his neck, Niall's thumb brushing figure eights into Liam's neck. Liam groans, and, as if through a fog, he can hear Niall's chuckle, feel Niall's thumb as it moves down, tracing Liam's jaw, pressing against the hinge as Liam's mouth moves against Zayn's, trailing lower, lower, until Niall's thumb is warm and insistent under Liam's chin.

Liam goes willingly, pulling back from Zayn only to turn his head, allowing Niall to position his chin and kiss him. Niall's lips are already swollen and chapped, and that does something to Liam. The knowledge that Zayn was already here, the knowledge that Liam's kissing along the same path Zayn just travelled, pools somewhere low and hot in Liam's chest.

He moans, pulling his hand from where it's trapped between their three bodies, and grasps at Zayn's shoulder. Zayn feels different than Niall, thinner, more bone and quiet, controlled strength than lean muscle, and that does something to Liam, too. Touching Zayn and kissing Niall and, fuck, Niall bends his elbow, brushing between Liam's thighs and Liam jolts forward, falling into their bodies and gasping into Niall's mouth.

Niall laughs, pulling away, his hand still tight on Liam's neck, the pressure of his thumb lessening until it's just a light, gentle touch, a reminder that Niall's there more than a promise of something more. "We've, ahh, got a show."

Niall's voice sounds thin and reedy, and Liam swallows against it, allowing Zayn to take the bulk of his weight in his hand, where it tightens on his hip.

"I should go," Zayn murmurs, reaching his free hand between their bodies to adjust himself in his tight black jeans. "Shift at half past."

Liam allows himself another moment, before he leverages himself off the couch, stretching his now numb and aching knee, and reaching a hand out for Niall.

"Thanks," Niall grins, brushing his wrist up Liam's chest before stepping away and settling himself in front of the audio board, knees pulled into his chest to hide the obvious bulge in his own jeans.

"Anyway," Zayn murmurs, reaching for Liam and kissing him, hard and thick and fast, before backing to the door. "Nice to see you both."

"This doesn't count," Niall calls after him.

"Course not," Zayn agrees, cheerfully, and disappears, the door clicking shut behind him.

"Ahh." Liam takes his seat next to Niall, pulling out his track list and really wishing that he had stayed up long enough to finish it last night, rather than beat Andy for a tenth time at FIFA. "Ed?"

Niall nods, flipping on "Thinking Out Loud" and settling back to pick the next track.

It's half way through the show before Liam comes down, his dick finally softening in his boxers and the sweat cooling against his t-shirt. It takes another few segments before Liam's ready to broach it, pushing past everything in him that's screaming that this is new and strange and not worth risking.

"Um," he finally starts, his eyes focused on the soundboard. "Mind if I ask you something?"

"Mmm?" Niall says absently, finishing off the playlist so they're set for the next few tracks, before he turns in his chair, fixing Liam with that full, serious gaze that still surprises Liam sometimes. "Ask away."

"Well, earlier, with, ahh, Zayn?" He trails off, not sure what he's asking, really, but hoping that Niall will understand him, like he always seems to.

"We're friends." Niall shrugs. "Well, really good friends. With lots of benefits," he winks.

"You're not- dating?" The words sounds strange, even as he's saying it, but Niall just gives him a shy smile, a little sad and sweet and wistful. It's gone before Liam can be sure he saw it.

"Nah, just, a little fun between lads, yeah?"

"Fun, yeah," Liam agrees. Liam can do fun.

"That, um," Niall reaches out, touching his fingers lightly to Liam's wrist. "That okay?"

"Brilliant, yeah." Liam smiles, reassuringly. "Honestly, was a little worried I was, um-" _cheating_ , he wants to say, but if he's cheating then so is Niall, and that doesn't make any sense, so, this is good. Casual is good. "- with all of you," he continues, a little nonsensically, tripping over his words in his rush to make Niall believe him, "and, this is good. Good."

Niall laughs. "Good, I'm glad."

He looks more relieved that his words sound, though, and he pulls Liam into a deep, teasing kiss that is tinged with memories of Zayn.

***

Something shifts after that.

Liam isn't quite sure what it is. 

He doesn't know if he has himself to blame. It’s probably not right that he goes home at night, gets off to the memories of what it felt like to be pressed between Niall and Zayn. It's greedy, he knows, greedier than he has any right being. He has four lads who willingly touch him, who seem to like it, and want him to touch them in return, and that's four more than he's ever had. 

To want more- to dream about tangles of bodies, pressed together on a bed that can barely bear them all, it's too much. So, he buries it under layers and layers of inhibitions and insecurities, tells himself to be happy with what he has, because it's, honestly, so much more than he ever thought he'd get.

The boys are a bit to blame, too, though. Because if it was just up to Liam, he'd be able to forget, most of the time. He'd be able to sink into each of them, to forget himself and whatever crazy ideas his subconscious devises in Harry's skin and Louis's laugh. They don’t let him, though. They’re always reminding him that it could be more, dropping hints and sharing moments that Liam tries, hard, not to read too far into.

Liam shakes his head, turning back to Zayn as his fingers tap absently against the skin of Liam’s forearm, where it rests on the table between them. His eyes are focused on his menu. “The veal’s good.”

"I'm partial to the chicken, myself."

Zayn's fingers stutter and Liam tries not to whine as he looks up to see Louis standing next to them, dressed in smart slacks and a soft, blue sweater that matches his eyes.

"Louis," Zayn greets, slowly.

"Zayn, Liam," Louis nods. "You don't mind, do you?" He motions to the empty chair between them, pulling it out before either of them can reply. "I was just stopping in for a bite, and, well, happy coincidence, yeah?"

Zayn looks like he wants to argue with both _happy_ and _coincidence_ , his fingers pressing so hard against Liam's skin that Liam pulls his arm back, dropping it into his lap.

"And," Louis continues, oblivious to Zayn's discomfort, "I wasn't lying about the chicken. The pesto here is to die for."

"Um." Liam glances at his menu, lighting on the first thing that isn't veal or chicken. "I think I'll go with the ravioli. It looks good."

"It's your funeral," Louis says, with a high, fake laugh, and Liam squirms. Under the table, his knees bump with both Louis's and Zayn's, and he leaves them there.

He remembers it, later, when they're spread out on the couch in Zayn's flat, Zayn's palm spread around both their dicks. Zayn's hand is tight and insistent, harsher than it usually is, racing Liam to orgasm with a speed and intensity that has him gasping into Zayn's ear.

"Fuck, Zee, what's-?" Zayn twists his fist, his dick jumping against Liam's and Liam gasps, "shit," as he wonders if this is what it's like when Zayn and Louis fuck. Hard and fast, a competition to see who can hold back longer.

Liam's pretty shit at that game. All it takes is that image, of Louis here with them, Zayn stripping Louis's cock with the same speed he is Liam's, and Liam is coming, splashing across the inside of Zayn's wrist, over the paint splatter tattoo.

***

Liam’s still thinking about it - the images in his head, of Zayn and Louis and Liam tangled together, racing each other towards orgasm - when he meets up with Louis a few days later. It’s hard to think about anything else, when he and Louis are pressed together on the Tube, rush hour traffic pushing their bodies closer and closer, until Liam’s holding himself stock-still so that Louis can’t feel how hard he’s pulsing under his jeans and coat.

It’s a relief when they pile off at an unfamiliar Tube station and Liam can take a step away from Louis, shivering in the cold and pulling his coat tighter around him. “Where are we?” 

Louis shrugs. "No idea. The places Haz gets to take him, honestly." He shakes his head, but he's wearing a proud smile that he can't quite hide.

The Lion's Head looks dingy on the outside, and it's not any better on the inside. It is pretty full of people, though, and it has a bar, so Liam's not going to complain. Especially when Harry finds them, wrapping his hands around both their necks and leaning close.

"Brilliant, innit?"

Louis raises an eyebrow, handing Harry his drink and waving the bartender for another one. "I feel like my feet are getting herpes." To illustrate, he lifts his sneaker with a squelching, sticky noise.

Harry shrugs. "A metal band just finished. Lots of bopping and beer spilling."

"Sure it's all beer?"

Liam chokes on his whiskey. Harry slaps his back, grinning happily, unfazed.

"Probably not," he admits. "But the fun's in the guessing."

Liam's not entirely sure that he agrees with that, but Harry's being called to the stage before he has time to argue.

He hasn't seen Harry play before, not anywhere but at the coffee shop and not for more than a few minutes at a time. It wasn't enough time, or the right atmosphere, to get how really good Harry is. The way he sits, loose and easy, all dimpled smiles and lanky limbs, the guitar perched on his lap like it's a missing limb. The way he plays, slow and unhurried, but strung through with something unpredictable, dangerous. The songs he sings, words of love and heartbreak in his deep rasp.

Liam's enraptured.

Louis digs his elbow into Liam's side, shoving a drink into his hand and ordering, "Drink it. And remember that you're here with me, yeah?"

Liam blinks, downing his drink and turning to look at Louis. He's dressed in all black, down to his black-soled Vans, but his hair is flipped to the side in a soft fringe, and his hand is bent loosely against his hip, as he frowns at Liam. It's only been a few days, but Liam's missed him.

On stage, Harry dives into something a little faster, with a bass beat that's thrumming through the floor, and Liam reaches for the hand on Louis's side, pulling him onto the dance floor.

"I'm terrible," Louis warns, even as he fits his legs in between Liam's, bending his knees and pressing close.

Liam hasn't found the time for clubbing in a while, and this isn't exactly flashing lights and the bone-deep bass of a dance track, but it is music and a dance floor full of bodies moving together. The whiskey's starting to take effect, and Liam's feeling loose and sloppy, his senses narrowed to the sounds of Harry's voice in his ear and the feel of Louis's body in front of him.

Louis shifts, slipping behind Liam, his hand splayed across Liam's stomach and the hard, thick line of his dick pressed into the curve of Liam's ass. Liam's been half-hard for a few songs already - never fully came down from the Tube ride, really - and he covers Louis's hand with his, pushing him down until their hands are cupped between his legs.

"Fuck, Li," Louis breathes into his ear, smelling like sweat and whiskey, and Liam spreads his knees a little further. Louis groans, his fingers tightening around Liam, through two layers of cotton. Liam loosens his own hand, splaying his fingers and trying, uselessly, to hide the motion as Louis starts to pump, hard and fast, in rhythm with Harry's melody.

"Lou, shit, we shouldn't- I'm-" Liam licks his lips, his mouth feeling dry and cracked, resting his head back on Louis's shoulder as he opens his body.

Louis arches his hips, rubbing against Liam's ass, his free hand slipping under Liam's shirt and grasping at his skin, warm and slick with the exertion of dancing. Liam's grateful for the low lights, and the press of bodies that are keeping this mostly hidden, and he's a little embarrassed at how hard he is so fast, spurred on by the danger of being caught.

He can barely think beyond _yes_ and _more_ and _quiet, quiet_ as he bites his lip against the waves of arousal burying themselves in the base of his spine, right in the spot Louis's thrusting. "Lou, Lou," he chants, as much warning as he has to give.

"Shh," Louis murmurs, pulling his hand back and straightening his legs.

"Lou," Liam repeats, a question this time, or a complaint, but Louis just grabs his hand, pulling him through the crowd until they find the bathroom.

It's empty, or, at least, Liam thinks it's empty. He doesn't care much as Louis pushes him into the handicap stall and Liam turns on him, kissing him, wet and sloppy and wanting. 

"Can I?" Liam asks, quietly, when he pulls away. He drops his hands to Louis's waistband, pressing tantalizing circles into Louis's skin. He's been thinking about this for a couple of weeks, even watched porn, taking notes in his econ notebook and desperately hoping that Andy wouldn't catch him doing it.

"What?" Louis asks, his eyes already half lidded and his hips arching into Liam's hand.

"This," Liam murmurs, flicking open the button on Louis's jeans and dropping to his knees, pulling Louis's trousers with him.

"God," Louis groans, wrapping his hands in Liam's hair. "Have you ever-?"

Liam shakes his head, not looking up as he flattens his hand against the hard, pulsing warmth of Louis's dick through his boxers. Louis jumps, meeting Liam's hand, a small, wet spot growing at the head as Liam presses hard.

"Fuck, that's-" Louis pulls absently on Liam's hair, "hot as fuck."

Liam hums, pushing down Louis's boxers. He's felt Louis before, measured the length of him in his palm, jerked him to orgasm, but always in his boxers or trapped between their bodies. It's different, this time, being able to see him. To trace the dark, purple vein on the underside as Louis twitches closer to him, lilting to the left and dripping a clear pool into the hollow of his hip. 

It's so much- more than Liam thought it would be, and his brain stutters for a moment as he realizes that he doesn't know how to do this. He reaches out to wrap his fingers around Louis, to distract Louis for a moment as Liam works his way into it. Louis isn't huge, fitting perfectly into the hollow of Liam's hands, but he feels thick and heavy and Liam's fingers have to stretch to cover the length of him.

Liam's jaw aches, just thinking about it, and he stutters over the thought, his hands tightening without thinking. Louis keens, arching forward, the muscles of his stomach bunching, and his fingers tightening in Liam's hair.

"This isn't gonna last long if you don't-"

Louis's dick lurches in Liam's hand, pulsing liquid, sticky and warm, into Liam's hand. Before he can think about it, Liam adjusts his grip, holding Louis still so he can lean forward, licking the pre-come off his thumb and Louis's head. Louis groans, and Liam feels another drop on his tongue. 

"Fuck, Li." Louis tugs at Liam's hair, pulling him closer, and Liam goes, more than happy to follow Louis's lead. He angles his chin, opening his mouth and letting Louis slip inside. He feels bigger, thicker, as Liam's lips stretch and thin across him. Liam loosens his jaw, flattening his tongue and slipping another inch around him.

The muscles of Louis's thighs are shaking around his head, and Liam reaches up, wrapping his hands around Louis's hips and holding him still against the bathroom door. Louis grunts, reaching his hand back to steady himself, as his hips jerk, just a little, chasing the warmth of Liam's mouth.

Liam's eyes water, and he takes a deep breath, struggling around Louis's bulk until Louis moans, his hips pushing against Liam's hands, and, fuck, Liam's own dick twitches against his thigh. He shifts, pushing his dick against the cotton of his boxers, not the friction he actually wants, but Louis's trembling under him and that's pretty distracting.

Liam's rhythm is off, and he knows he's sloppy, certainly more enthusiasm than technique. Louis doesn’t seem to be complaining too much, though, as a steady stream of whines and moans leave his mouth, and he feels warm and solid on Liam's tongue. It feels- powerful, and Liam tightens his mouth around Louis in a quick pulse of pressure.

"Yeah," Louis moans. "Fuck, do that again." He reaches down, wrapping his fingers around Liam's right hand, where it's still gripping bruises into Louis's skin. He pulls Liam's hand away, dropping it to wrap around the base of his dick, where Liam hasn't tried to take him in deeper.

Liam tightens his fingers, pumping his hand in rhythm with his mouth and Louis's head thumps against the bathroom stall as he swears.

"Close, close," he warns, his voices broken and tense, and Liam shifts, speeding up with both his hand and his mouth. Still, his jaw is aching painfully and his fingers are starting to cramp by the time Louis' body tenses under him, crying out and spilling into Liam's mouth.

"Fuck," he groans, as he comes down, his body slumping to rest against the door, his thighs still twitching around Liam, as his hands scramble at Liam’s shoulder. "Get up here, come on."

Liam stands, his knees shaky and numb, and presses his hands on either sides of Louis's head, holding his weight up and steady as Louis gets his hands into Liam's boxers. Liam's quiet, too exhausted and strung-out to do much more than breath heavily into Louis's shoulder, mixing with the slick sounds of Louis's hand on his skin. It doesn't take more than a few pumps before he's coming in Louis's fist.

He keeps himself still for a long time, as Louis reaches over to grab a wad of toilet paper to clean them both off. From the stage, Liam can hear the bass line of Harry's guitar and the low, unintelligible thrum of his voice as he sings. He twitches, raw and sensitive, against the rough toilet paper in Louis hands, and he reaches down, stilling him, before doing up his trousers.

They head back out to the club. Louis's stupid and pliant after orgasm, and he leans into Liam for the rest of Harry's set, his hips swaying gently to the beat as he presses quiet, rhythmic kisses to Liam's neck.

When Harry finishes his set, he makes his way over to them, wrapping his arms around Louis when Louis falls against him. "Hey," Harry greets, already laughing, tightening his hands on Louis's back. "Looks like you had fun."

Harry looks over Louis's head to wink at Liam. Liam flushes. Harry knows exactly what they were up to, which means- fuck, that means that Harry's intimately acquainted with post-orgasmic Louis. Liam files that away, to deal with later.

"You were really good," he says, instead, and watches as Harry's eyes darken in the dim stage lighting.

"Thanks." Harry's voice drops. "Thank you for coming."

"It was Louis's idea," Liam admits. "But, I'm glad we did. You really are very good."

Harry shifts Louis, leaning forward. "You should sing with me sometime."

Liam doesn't stop him as he presses against Liam, tilting his head and drawing Liam into a kiss. Liam's mouth still feels tacky and sour, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind as he groans, licking the taste of Louis from every corner of Liam's mouth.

"Fuck," Harry murmurs, pulling back. His eyes are half-lidded, drunk and dark, and Liam doesn't miss the way his pants tighten and bulge around his dick.

In a reckless, desperate moment, he leans forward, letting the back of his hand brush between Harry’s thighs as he drops his voice. "I'm looking forward to Thursday." Harry's body twitches, and Liam pulls back, dropping his shoulder under Louis's and pulling him close. "Thank you for the gig."

"Fuck, you're fit," Louis mutters, when they're on the sidewalk, pressed together because of the cold and Louis's inability to walk straight after a few cocktails and a spectacular blowjob. "You and Harry, you're so fit," he adds, and Liam's step stutters.

He wants to ask what Louis means, but Louis's blowing on his hands, his shoulder pressing tighter into Liam's, eyes a little unfocused. He probably doesn't mean anything by it, nothing beyond the obvious, and Liam sighs, pulling him closer.

***

The next morning, Louis greets him with a smile that Liam wishes was a kiss and says, "I've got a footie match this weekend. You should come."

"Yeah," Niall agrees, wrapping his hand around Louis's hip from behind, from where he's snuck behind the counter to refill his coffee. "He might even play a minute or two."

"Fuck off," Louis swats at him, before pulling him in for a quick kiss. "And get back where you belong. If the manager sees you back here-"

"Yeah, yeah," Niall waves him off, only jumping a little when Louis swats his ass. He's frowning, still rubbing the spot as he falls back into his chair across from Liam, putting two cups of fresh coffee on the piles of textbooks between them. "So, what do you say? Wanna go to Louis's game with me? We can make a date of it."

Niall winks, light and cheeky, like he always is. But when Liam looks up, Louis's looking at them, his brows pressed inwards and his chin furrowing like it does whenever he's trying to work through something. It’s strange and disconcerting and Liam doesn’t know what it means.

Niall kicks him under the table. "Liam?"

"Ow," Liam grosses, then, "yeah, sure, that’ll be nice," because he's been dating them both for weeks now and, really, this shouldn't be any different.

Niall smiles at him, before shutting his history book with a loud thump. "This is boring. Wanna go make out?"

Liam laughs, thinking, distantly, of his econ test next week, but Niall's toes are digging under the hem of his jeans and Liam's never had much of a backbone around him anyway. "Sure."

Niall gives a little cheer, pulling Liam up and towards the bathroom.

Louis calls, "I just cleaned that, you better leave it spotless," to their retreating backs.

***

Liam's never been the smartest of guys, and he’s never been the cleverest, but he is thoughtful. To, like, the point of distraction, running through consequences and alternatives over and over again in his mind, picking at the things he wants until he's convinced that he doesn't want them. Not if they'll hurt his family, or his friends, or his chances at- at what, he's not really sure, but probably at being happy, later, someday, in that distant, nebulous time when he'll be able to let himself have things.

He spent a lot of time in Wolverhampton talking himself out of things. Liking guys. Telling his parents. Asking his cute lab partner to the winter formal. 

Until Andy came to dinner, in March of their last year of college, and told Liam's parents, "I'm moving to London, in the fall. For uni. Liam's coming with me, isn't that great?" As if they'd talked about it before, as if it wasn't blindsiding Liam as badly as it was blindsiding his parents.

He tried to talk himself out of it. He was doing a pretty good job, too, until Nicola sat him down for an intervention. He's taken her "you need to stop thinking about everyone but yourself, I want you to be happy, little brother," to heart.

Maybe a little bit too to heart, if that's a thing. 

In a complete one-eighty, he hasn't spent a whole lot of time thinking over the last few months. He told himself he’d just go with it. These four lads, all wanting to spend time with him, to touch him and take him out and share him- it's more than Liam could have ever dreamed of. Just-

"It's weird, innit?" He asks, as he falls onto the couch, feeling loose and uncoordinated after a few glasses of complimentary champagne from Zayn's art show. Harry'd taken him, spent the night whispering into Liam's ear, pressing tightly against his back and refilling his flute, as they looked at Zayn's work. 

Liam's still buzzing with the way Zayn had pulled him close, whispered "thank you for coming," before pulling Harry into a deep, grateful kiss. Liam feels weak with wanting, with the knowledge that there's absolutely nothing he wants more than to pull Zayn and Harry to him, both of them, but that's not something Liam's allowed to want. At least, he's pretty sure it isn't.

"Hmm?" Andy doesn't look up from where he's flipping through the channels on their TV. He has a beer held loosely in his free hand and Liam reaches over to steal a few sips. Andy frowns. "Dude."

Liam shrugs, but doesn’t apologize.

"I'm not entirely comfortable with this new definition of sharing those boys have taught you."

Liam flinches. That hits- way too close to everything Liam's finally allowing himself to think about.

Andy frowns, turning off the TV and turning in his chair, hanging his legs over the arm, so that he can look at Liam fully. "What's going on?"

"I-" Liam shrugs, reaching for the beer again and, this time, Andy lets him. Liam takes a long sip, and it mixes successfully with the champagne, leaving Liam just hazy enough to have this conversation. "The sharing. I think, maybe, I want that?"

"Half of mine is yours," Andy jokes.

"Don't- I'm not, Andy, I-"

Andy straightens. "Jesus, Liam, you're serious about this?"

Liam drops his eyes to stare at the label on his beer, picking at it. "I like them."

"As in-?"

"As in I like them. All of them."

"Well," Andy says slowly, carefully, "you've been dating them for a while now. Guess we should have known you'd have to choose, eventually."

"That's the thing, though." Liam still doesn’t look up. His heart is bounding, he can feel it in his fingertips, and he rubs harder at the beer bottle, futzing with the tacky glue to get it off. "What if I don't have to choose?"

"That's what you're doing now, yeah?"

"Yeah, I guess." Liam turns his head, peering at Andy out of the sides of his eyes. Andy's frowning, like he wishes he hadn't had quite so many beers before this conversation. Liam's pretty happy for his, for the way it's loosening his tongue and clarifying his thoughts, pushing past the inhibitions clinging to them, telling him he's wrong, telling him this is impossible. "Just, what if, like, I could have a relationship? With all of them, like, committed and stuff, just, all of us?"

"Five separate boyfriends? That sounds like a lot of work."

"Maybe-" Liam breathes deeply. "Maybe not so separate."

Andy frowns. "You're gonna have to spell this out for me, Li, cause I don't-"

"I don't know what I mean," Liam says, quickly, then bites his tongue. He thinks of the way Niall softens under Zayn's hands, the way Louis watches Harry when he sings, the way Zayn touches Louis, soft and gentle, even when they're at work, and Liam knows that's he's lying. He knows exactly what he means, exactly what he wants. "I'm pretty sure we're all dating each other. Like, the other lads, too. And, maybe, just, we could all, together? Date. All of us."

That's not really all that much more intelligible, but Andy's sitting up even straighter, leaning forward in the chair and placing his hand on Liam's knee like, finally, he understands. "That's- that's called polyamory."

"Huh." _Polyamory_. It's nice to put a word to it.

"Yeah," Andy agrees, shaking his head and smiling ruefully, tightening his fingers around Liam's knee. "You never cease to amaze me, Li."

"Ahh, thanks?" Liam's not quite sure that's a compliment.

He gives another squeeze, before taking his hand back. He's still shaking his head, though, muttering under his breath, "a committed group relationship, sheesh, never could do anything small."

He sounds fond, if a little exasperated, and Liam smiles to himself as he settles back into the couch and pulls out the Xbox controllers. "FIFA?"

***

Harry crashes Liam’s soccer date with Niall. Which is already kind of Niall-and-Louis's soccer date, so Liam's going to call this step one in the plan he's been working on since his conversation with Andy. It's not, like, a well-developed plan, and it mostly consists of having as many of the boys together as often as possible, but, so far, it's going well.

"Nice of you to make it," Niall says as Harry sits down, something a little tight and tense at the corners of Niall’s smile. "For the first time all season."

Harry shrugs, raising his arm and putting it behind Liam's back, slipping his thumb under Liam's shirt and rubbing circles into his skin. "Just needed the right incentive."

Niall scoffs, but he shimmies his hips and, when Liam looks down, he sees that Harry is rubbing the same, slow circles into Niall's hip with his middle finger. Liam takes a moment to marvel at Harry's dexterity, before he settles into it, trying to hide his grin as he gazes out at the field, where Louis's number 28 is blinking back at him from the bench.

They sit like that, pressed together, until halftime, when Louis turns, shielding his eyes in the bright, late fall sun, and waves at them. "You looked cozy up there," he says, the same edge to his voice that Niall had to his smile, as they clank down the bleachers and stop in front of him.

Liam shrugs, "it's cold," before wrapping his fingers in the front of Louis's jersey and pulling him into a kiss. It's the first time he's initiated contact in front of the other lads, and Louis freezes for a long moment before he sinks into it.

"Um," Louis says, licking his tongue across his lips, when Liam finally pulls away. "I'm glad you could come."

Liam shrugs, his shoulders feeling heavy under Harry and Niall's stares. "No place I'd rather be." He bumps his hip against Niall's and slips his fingers in Harry's front pocket, just loose, subtle reminders that he's here with them, as much as he is with Louis.

"Mad," Niall mutters under his breath, as Louis jogs back onto the field and they head back up to their seats.

***

Louis does play the majority of the second half. He's good, if a little small, but he’s fast and his foot is accurate and he has eyes for the game, Liam can tell that in just a couple of minutes. Liam, himself, has never been very good at non-video game football, despite the half-a-lifetime he's spent watching it.

"Does he normally play like this?" He asks, feeling a little high on the game, his cheeks red from the chill and the adrenaline, as Louis makes another good play and they all stand to cheer.

"Nah." Niall nudges him with his elbow. "Must be showin' off."

Niall's smile is a little less off, and Liam hopes he means _for all of us_ rather than _for you_.

Liam needs to stop thinking things like that. Those thoughts are dangerous.

He manages pretty well until much later, after they've done dinner and celebratory drinks with the team and have moved on to the club. The team's there, somewhere, giving them a wide birth. Liam thinks it's probably his fault, because he's closer to trashed than tipsy, and he's using it to be forward, unrestrained, affectionate.

He ignores the looks from Louis's teammates, the winks and cat-eating grins, pushes them to the edges of his vision, where they grow hazy and faded under the weight of the whiskey sours Niall keeps pushing into his hands. Liam's throat burns as he finishes his latest drink, and he tangles his fingers in the collar of Louis's shirt, pulling him into a deep, numbing kiss.

Harry pushes closer, fitting his knees behind Liam's, spreading his hand wide on Liam's stomach. His thumb slips under Liam's t-shirt, steady against the warm, twitching skin of Liam's stomach, his pinkie brushing against the head of Liam's dick, pressing against layers of denim and cotton and staying there. Liam hopes it's because of Louis and Niall, not because Harry's jealous, but because Harry wants to be here, with them.

All three of them.

Niall's knees are bent, slipped in-between Liam's, his arms held over his head in what Liam assumes is an Irish version of the sprinkler. It's probably just Niall's version of awkward dancing, though. Not that it matters, not when Niall's biting at his bottom lip, holding in something wide and satisfied, and, when Liam drops his free hand to brush along Niall's thigh, he feels the thick, hard line of Niall's dick straining against the tight grey denim of his jeans.

Liam's grateful for the deep, heavy beat of the music and the dark, flashing neon lights, hiding the way his body is twitching. His fingers, twisted in Louis's shirt; the muscles of his stomach under Harry's hand; his knees around Niall's. 

It's so much. It's almost enough.

He lets Louis go when his lips are red and sore, wrapping his hand, instead, around Niall's neck, tangling his fingers in the soft, blond hair, and pulling him close enough to be heard. "Zayn should be here," he murmurs, meaning _Zayn needs to be here_ and _I want Zayn here_.

Niall swallows, hard enough for Liam to see the bob of his adam's apple. "Liam-" He glances over Liam's shoulder, at Harry, his eyes wide and turquoise and a little desperate.

Harry's thumb presses into Liam's skin. "Zee can't come tonight."

"Oh," Liam breathes, pretty sure that Harry can feel it under his hands, better than he can hear it.

"He has a- painting thing." Harry's tongue twists around _painting_ like it tastes bitter and sour in his mouth.

"Oh," Liam breathes again, turning his head to kiss the taste out of Harry's mouth. Harry tastes acrid, fierce, claiming, as he spills onto Liam's tongue, pressing him close, close, closer until Liam's almost forgotten Niall in front of him and Louis at his side.

But then Niall stretches his knee, grimacing a little as he stands straighter, and Louis pulls his hand from Liam's back to help him. The movements are small, but they spark through Liam's body, harsh and clear, and he pulls away from Harry, panting through the whiskey and the tight, painful feeling in his chest.

Where this all felt so possible and wonderful and powerful, just a short time ago, it now feels dangerous, off-kilter. Like he's standing on a cliff, and he thought he knew how many feet there are to the edge, but he was wrong. He miscalculated, he didn't account for this, and it may be Zayn's fault, but it's Liam's too, because he let himself fall into this.

He pushes away, tripping as he untangles himself from them, from their legs and elbows and whatever this is that's been happening between them. He's dripping with sweat, his t-shirt sticking to his back and his shoulders, and he's shivering as he stumbles outside, breathing in the cold air, shuddering as it burns and stings on the way down.

It's good, steadying, and he leans against the wall, hands on his knees, breathing it in, letting it center him.

Harry's hand is heavy between his shoulder blades. "Hey, hey," he murmurs as he rubs circles into Liam's t-shirt. 

Liam looks to his left. Harry's knees are turned inwards, pigeon-toed, the skin of his kneecap pimpling as the cool air slips into his ripped jeans. Liam takes a deep breath, and it burns a little less on the way down.

"Okay?" Harry asks, his fingers still moving, as he settles on the wall next to Liam.

Liam means to say _yeah, better, thanks_ but what he actually says is, "I want you to fuck me," and swears at himself.

Beside him, Harry freezes.

"What?"

Liam straightens, repeating, "I want you to fuck me," then, "I want it to be you, Haz, yeah?" Because in for a penny, in for a pound, yeah?

Also because this isn't exactly the first time he's thought about this. He's thought about it a lot, actually, while watching porn and fingering himself open, testing, practicing, researching. He's spent a lot of time imagining the way Louis would laugh at him, the way he'd tease and joke, distracting Liam while he opened him, slow and gentle like. Or the way Niall would try and get Liam to laugh, self-deprecating and a little nervous, shaking right along with Liam. Or, maybe, Zayn, who would hand him a blunt first, so that Liam is loose and uninhibited, yet would feel so much, so clearly, when Zayn slides in.

They would all be wonderful, so wonderful, but, Liam always comes back to Harry. Harry, who's gangly and uncoordinated, still not completely grown into his body, but who has never been anything but slow and steady with Liam. Harry, who kissed Liam last, who waited and asked and asked again, before Liam finally manhandled him onto the bed and got his hand under Harry's jeans.

Liam wants it to be Harry.

Harry, though, is looking at him, awe and unhappiness warring at the corners of his mouth. "It's-" He swallows. "It's Niall's night."

Liam flinches, glancing down at his feet, scuffing the white toe of his Nikes. "What if it doesn't have to just be Niall's night? What if it can be all of us, the four of us, the five of us if Zayn gets his head out of his ass-"

Harry's shaking his head before Liam gets halfway through his first question, his eyes slitted and sad. "You don't know what you're asking."

"I do," Liam insists because, fuck that, Liam knows what he wants. "I've been thinking about this for ages." Well, something approximating ages, anyway.

"It won't work. It-" Harry swallows again, his throat working hard over something lumpy and stilted. "There's something you don't know- there's something I need to tell you."

He reaches out, fingers wrapping loosely around Liam's wrist, like he can't help himself.

"I really like you, Li. We all do. That's- I guess that's the problem, really."

"Harry?"

Liam's not sure Harry can hear him. He’s staring blankly in front of him, at the busy London street, tinted orange by the streetlamps shining off of the bright yellow cabs lining up in front of the club.

"Niall met you first, but it was Louis who called dibs, did you know that?"

Liam shakes his head, "no," then, "called dibs on me?"

Harry smiles, a thin, rickety thing, as he turns to look at Liam. "Yeah, on you. That's how it works, usually. Like, if we like someone, really like them- Anyway, I'm told I put up a right strop but," Harry shrugs, "wasn't so bad. Zayn, though, he hid in his studio for three days, and Niall started whining over the air and- it was stupid, really."

Liam wants to let himself sink into that, wrapped in the knowledge that they wanted him, they all wanted him, enough to put up a fight about it. Harry, though, looks so small and regretful, and Liam's seen that look before. He's seen it on his friends' faces, when they stood back, when they said 'I have to get home, chores, you know?' and left Liam to face his tormentors alone.

"I'm really sorry, Liam. It wasn't supposed to go like this. It was- I don't really know what it was supposed to be, but it wasn't supposed to be _this_."

"I-" Liam swallows. "I don't understand."

Harry bites his lip. His fingers are digging deep bruises into Liam's wrist. "We, um, we came up with a compromise. Well, a compromise for us, maybe not so much for you?"

Liam's wrist twitches. Harry doesn't loosen his fingers.

"First one- first one to fuck you, he could have you."

Liam forcibly pulls his wrist out of Harry's grip.

"Sorry, that was, ahh, crude."

"No, um," Liam's mouth is dry, and he licks his lips, his tongue feeling thick and uncoordinated. "Just crude enough, I think."

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

He sounds miserable.

Liam doesn't know what he feels.

Drunk, he feels drunk. Probably a little numb. Definitely a little hazy. "I'm gonna-" He waves at the line of cabs.

Harry doesn’t stop him.

***

Liam throws a wad of bills he can't really afford at the cab driver. He owes him, though, for booting over the backseat. Probably ruined the guy's night, and Liam can be really sympathetic about that at the moment.

Liam toes off his shoes in the entryway without falling over, adding them to the pile of colorful sneakers already stacked there. His mouth tastes foul, and he stops at the kitchen sink long enough to rinse it out and down a bottle of water. He waits, a few seconds, to make sure it stays down before he reaches for another one and clutches it to his chest, taking it with him down the hall.

The flat is quiet, and Liam pauses at Andy's door. He smells rank, like sweat and alcohol, and he strips off his jeans and t-shirt, leaving them in a pile in the hallway, before pushing inside.

Andy doesn't wake when he crawls into bed, settling the quilt around his shoulders and leaving a few, careful inches between them.

Andy does wake a bit later, though, when he rolls in his sleep and feels Liam's body heat. "You okay?" He asks, without opening his eyes, his voice still drowning in sleep.

"No," Liam whispers.

Andy pulls him close, wrapping his body around Liam's before he falls back asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Liam doesn't like London in January. To be fair, he didn't like it much in February, either. It's cold and slushy, dirt caking on the bottoms of his sneakers and at the edges of his backpack. It mirrors how he’s feeling, and Liam's pretty sick of being reminded of his mental state every time he steps outside.

Liam's pretty sick of a lot of things.

It's been six weeks since he's seen any of the boys. Except for Niall, who’s stepped away from co-hosting Liam’s show, but is still there, all the time, hanging around the station and, seemingly, waiting to watch him. Liam can feel him, his eyes boring into Liam’s head through the radio booth window. Liam never watches back.

Not when all it takes is a glimpse of Niall's quiff for Liam's chest to tighten around a heavy, vicious pit in the bottom of his stomach as his fingers trip, numb and shaking and sweaty, over the controls. He doesn't need to see it for Liam's eyes to flutter over images of Niall’s bright smile; the way his long, pale fingers used to pick at the inseam of Liam's jeans; how he'd kiss Liam, eager and light and so, so smug whenever Zayn or Louis would catch them at it.

Liam forces his eyes open, letting February back in, the world dull and mild. It filters into Liam's body – pooling in the hollows Louis left on Liam's hips, the bruises Zayn kissed into his collarbone, that spot behind his ear that Harry used to love – an ugly substitute for the real thing.

Liam shivers, shrugging into his coat and handing the reigns to Grimmy. He feels tired, sluggish, weighed down by memories he can’t shake.

"You okay, mate?" Grimmy asks, as he falls into Liam’s chair, knees spread in horrendous striped pants. Liam could like him, in another world, where he met Grimmy first, perhaps, where he let Grimmy in before his heart was already overflowing.

Liam tightens the belt on his coat, pulling his bag onto his shoulder and shrugging off Grimmy's concern. "Fine, yeah. Just don't like winter much."

"Hear that." Grimmy smiles, turning to the microphone, and Liam slips out.

It’s even colder outside than Liam had prepared for, and he shoves his hands deep into his pockets, arching his shoulder to his ear to keep his bag from slipping. He’s already late for microeconomics. Overbooking himself isn’t the smartest coping strategy, but it is the best he’s found so far, better than over-indulging on crisps, and definitely better than late clubs nights with Andy, both of which left him with nothing but an aching, full feeling in his stomach to match the one in his chest.

So, he's rushing, huddled against the wind, his knees locked and his toes curled in his shoes, trying to help his sneakers grip at the icy sidewalks. His balance isn’t great, and he slips, his left foot falling out from under him and he's on his way down when a hand catches him under the elbow.

Liam knows who it is before he looks up. He'd know that hand anywhere, palm wide and fingers calloused. It takes Liam's breath away.

"Hi," Harry breaths, the tips of his cheeks flushed and his eyes dark. His fingers tighten on Liam's elbow. 

"Hi." Liam swallows. "Thanks."

Harry frowns. "I wasn't gonna let you fall." It sounds more like _I’ll never let you fall_ and Liam can’t deal with that, not now, not when it’s six weeks and layers of sentiment too late.

"I-" Liam pulls his arm out of Harry's grasp, burying his hands back in the pockets of his jacket. "I didn't think you would."

"Oh." Harry reaches up, nervously adjusting the Green Bay Packers hat perched on his head. "I wouldn't blame you, if you did."

"Well, I don't."

They're at a stand-off, and Liam shuffles his feet, saying, "I've gotta get to class" at the same time as Harry asks, "How have you been?"

They laugh, little, breathless things that tug at the memories Liam is trying so desperately to keep locked away. Harry gives him a half smile and asks again, more sincere this time. "How are you?"

"I'm okay." _I miss you_. "You?"

"Been better."

Liam says, "I'm sorry," before he can stop himself, and Harry stares at him with that same look he did six weeks ago, wistful and so, so sad that Liam can almost see his regret, almost falls for it all over again.

"You-" Harry swallows, tilting onto the sides of his feet in the slush. "You shouldn't be."

Liam shrugs. _That's who I am_ , then, "I care about you." Which is not something he ever wanted to admit. Not to Harry, not now. He should have gone with the first thing. He amends, "I cared about you."

"I know."

"I am just that much of an asshole."

"You're not." Liam shrugs, and Harry tips forward, reaching out and stopping just inches from touching him. "You're really not. If we had cared a little bit more- But-" Harry shakes his head. _It is what it is_.

Liam swallows. "How are- How are the rest of the lads?"

Harry tilts his head to the side, measuring, waffling, before, "We, um, we stopped seeing each other."

"Oh."

Harry shrugs. "It's not, ahh, a big deal."

Liam's always been able to tell when Harry's lying, better, probably, than any of the boys. "Was it-?"

"Because of you?" Harry offers, and Liam gives him a small, rueful smile. "It was, and it wasn't. We- I- you meant a lot to us, Liam."

"Yeah," Liam nods, that wasn't ever really the problem.

"I guess we just never meant as much to each other."

Liam's pretty sure that wasn't ever the problem, either. "I'm sorry."

Harry shrugs. "It's not- it's okay. You, um, said you have a class?"

"Shit, yeah." Liam glances at his watch. "I'm late."

"It was nice, seeing you. I miss you."

"Yeah," Liam says, agreeing to everything, agreeing to nothing.

Harry closes the distance between them and, before Liam can stop him, pulls him into a quick, desperate, hard hug that is long enough to remind Liam of everything he's lost, but not long enough for anything else.

"I'll, um, see ya." Harry smiles, false and small, and melts into the crowd.

Liam turns in the opposite direction, figuring that he's already missed enough econ to call it a wash. Andy's already home, deep into a Skyrim quest, and Liam joins him on the couch, burying his socked feet under Andy's thighs and resting his head on the armrest.

"Don't you have class today?" Andy asks, killing an orc with one hand and wrapping his other around Liam's ankle.

"I ran into Harry."

Andy pauses the game. "Harry- Harry Styles, Harry?"

"Yeah."

“Huh. Still an ass?”

“Pretty much.” _Not at all._ “I don’t really- can we not talk about it?”

“Sure. Whatever you need.”

Liam knows better than to actually believe that, but he’s exhausted and confused. So, he arches his back, pressing his feet into Andy’s thighs and closing his eyes.

Andy restarts the game. The room fills with orc screams and the tinnie, electronic sounds of flirting in medieval taverns. It’s comforting.

***

Liam deleted all four numbers from his phone the morning he woke up in Andy's bed with a hangover and an ache in his heart that pulsed harder than the one in his head. 

He did have the foresight, though, to take screen caps of their contact info and send the pictures to Andy's phone for safe keeping, before he deleted them.

"Um, so, I was wondering-?"

Andy looks up from his laptop. There's a deep crease in his forehead; he's probably revising maths. "Yeah?"

Liam stubs his bare toes against Andy's doorframe. "Those screen caps I sent you? A few weeks ago. Did you keep them?"

Andy folds his arms over his textbook, the set of his shoulders saying _I told you so_ and _you're an idiot_. "Yes."

"Oh." Liam picks at the wood with his fingernail. The splinters kinda hurt. "That's, um, good."

"Sure."

"Okay, well, I'll leave you, ahh, to that." He waves at Andy's revisions and backs out of the door.

***

When Liam finally asks for Zayn's number ten days or so later, Andy surrenders it with nothing but a long-suffering shrug.

As Liam stands in front of Zayn's door, nervous and fidgety, he blames Andy. Because, really, Andy knows him well enough to save him from himself at this point. If he had just put up a fight, even a half-hearted one, Liam would have stepped down and given up on this stupid idea. Until Liam could go home, at least, to sulk in Wolverhampton for a couple of months, eating ice cream with Ruth and fighting Nic for bathroom time and giving himself time to move the fuck on.

As if the lads are that forgettable. Liam sighs. Maybe Andy does know him, after all.

He knocks, then pushes through the unlocked door. He’s never been to Zayn’s studio before. Heard a lot about it, and seen a lot of Zayn's work, but never actually been before. The plain, warehouse-type space is exactly like he thought it would be, chaotic, the walls splashed with bright neon spray paints, and nothing but a cheap futon in the middle of the room.

"Hey," Liam greets, rocking back on his heels and looking around, remembering that night, what feels like months ago now, when he vandalized a wall, then fucked Zayn against it. If he thinks about it, really thinks about it, Liam would point to that night as the turning point. The night that Liam chose them, all four of them, actively and willingly buying into whatever bullshit they were feeding him, and not caring to ask any questions.

Liam sighs. When he thinks like that, he has to admit that this is as much his fault as it is anyone else’s. It’s a thought he’s had, over and over again, since things ended and, as much as he’s still frustrated and hurt, he thinks he’s ready to take some of that responsibility.

He steps forward.

"Liam." Zayn's on his knees on the floor, bent over a large canvas, a spray can in his hand. He puts it down, slipping the mask off his face and sitting back on his heels. 

"Nice place."

Zayn shrugs.

"Thanks for, um, letting me come."

Zayn shrugs again. His fingers are stained orange and green, leaving neon fingerprints on the thighs of his acid-washed jeans, where he's gripping nervously. "I'm glad you called. I didn't- I figured I'd never see you again."

Liam's knees are shaking and he sits, gingerly, on the edge of the futon. It's different, seeing Zayn after he's been thinking about it for days, than it was seeing Harry, numbed with the shock of running into him. Liam is anything but numb now, Zayn thrumming through him like he's never left. "I- um, I just, I want you to explain it to me."

Zayn rocks on his heels, the corners of his mouth twisting uncomfortably.

"The, um, the contest, or, whatever you called it."

Zayn sighs. "Contest, yeah." He shifts, spreading his legs in front of him, shaking them out, before sitting indian style, elbows on his knees and leaning towards the futon. "We'd, um, had them before, you know?"

Liam probably should have known, yeah. Of course he wasn't the only one, he's not- special enough, to warrant that. It hurts that it still hurts. "Oh."

"But," Zayn says, quickly, bowling over Liam's _oh_. "They were always friendly. Just, like, who could get the most cuddles or blowjobs or whatever, but, we'd always go home, like, together, at the end of the night."

Liam sinks into what he remembers of his first night with Louis. Louis's frat brother asking _this a new one?_ and _how many is it this time?_ and Liam not asking, Liam not pushing Louis on it, Liam being satisfied when Louis had said _no, not this time, this time's different_ even as he twisted his fingers nervously against Liam's knee. Liam only has himself to blame, really.

"It was- it was different with you," Zayn continues, unknowingly echoing Louis's words. "You're- you're brilliant, Li, and I couldn't help it. I wanted you. I was invested in you."

Liam's palms are sweaty and he straightens his back, rubbing them against his jeans. Andy's always warning him that he has a masochistic streak a mile wide, but, not knowing has been worse than knowing every could be. "How did it work?"

"At first?"

Liam nods.

Zayn smiles. He tries to hide it, dropping his chin and burying it in his shoulder, but it's there, pushing at his mouth and crinkling at the corners of his eyes. "First to bring you to orgasm."

Liam tilts his head in surprise. "But, we, that first week-"

"Yeah." Zayn laughs, and it's a little brittle but mostly there. "I, um, broke the rules, so- it didn't count."

"Had to be done by midnight," Liam guesses, because all the signs were there. Flashing, with bright red arrows pointing at Liam’s head. If only he had noticed them.

"Yeah." Zayn shrugs. "Knew it, too, I just- cheating didn't seem so bad, when I could have you."

"Um." Liam's chest is warming to the easy, casual way Zayn's talking about this. "I didn't mind."

Zayn punches out a quick, surprised burst of laughter. "You're really something, Liam."

Liam shrugs. He doesn't believe that, not really. They wouldn’t have done this - Liam wouldn’t have let himself be played like this - if that were true.

"Anyway, so, we changed the rules after that. Got rid of the midnight thing. Gave up on the solo date rule. Made it harder to win-"

"First to fuck me," Liam says, repeating what Harry said to him, weeks ago.

Zayn flinches. "Yeah. I, um, didn't think it'd happen, not anytime soon, at least. But you must have- I don't even know. Did you-?"

Liam licks his lips. He doesn’t know how to say it- he'd assumed that Harry had told everyone what happened. Had bragged about it, probably, used it to chirp the other lads. "Harry. I, um, asked him to, and he- told me, about the contest."

"Haz always did have a guilty conscience." Zayn looks down, at the wolf he was spray painting before Liam came in. "Not, mind you, that he shouldn't have. We- what we were doing- I'm sorry."

Liam sinks to the ground, sitting just a few inches from Zayn, their knees almost touching. "Why?"

"I thought it was just a little fun. Getting some, having a laugh, no stakes. It wasn't all that different than what we were doing with each other, really."

"There were stakes. For me."

"I know."

"And there were stakes for you, too."

Zayn sighs deeply, reaching out to brush his fingertips against Liam's knee, painting him in orange and blue. "Yeah, there were. You know the worst part?"

Liam shakes his head. Zany looks so sad, the corners of his mouth hard and ugly, and, even now, it makes Liam’s chest ache.

"I thought, for a moment there, that we had a chance. The five of us, together. Stupid, ehh?"

Liam's breath catches. He leans forward, one hand grasping at Zayn's forearm, the other pressed hard into Zayn's thigh. "Not stupid at all."

He presses their lips together, licking the sadness from the corners of Zayn's mouth, warm and slow and weighted. Zayn shivers, his thigh shaking under Liam's hand, his mouth tentative and unsure against Liam's, so different than it was the last time they did this, when Zayn had pulled Liam’s hands over his head and held him there as he fucked his mouth. 

Liam lets himself sink into it for a long moment, before thoughts of Niall and Harry and Louis slip behind his closed eyes and he pulls back, resting his forehead against Zayn's.

"I can't do this. Not without-" He breathes quietly, slowly.

Zayn nods, pushing tight against Liam for a moment before pulling away. "What we did to you, that was unconscionable. But what we did to each other, that wasn't much better."

Liam nods, pushing himself up from the floor. He pauses at the door, glancing back just long enough to see Zayn pick up his spray can again. He looks small and lonely, crouched on the floor. As he turns to leave, though, Liam’s thinks he’s finally starting to understand.

***

"I hear you're talking to us again." Niall pulls the chair out with his ankle, straddling it backwards and folding his arms on the back of it. He says _us_ like he's still in denial, which would explain, really, why Niall's the only one who so much as looked at Liam in January.

"Zayn called you?"

Niall shrugs, his shoulder rising all the way to his ears. "Called is a bit of an exaggeration."

"Ah huh." Despite himself, Liam smiles. If Niall's in denial, well, Liam can work with that.

"I might have stolen his phone, but no one can prove it." He hitches his hip, pulling an old-fashioned Nokia phone out of his back pocket and brandishing it at Liam.

Liam laughs. "Should have known."

"Figured it'd give him a reason to talk to me." Niall shrugs, too careful, too casual. "Hasn't happened yet."

"You know Zayn and his phone."

"Yeah." Niall drops his chin to his arms, crossed over the back of the chair. "I am sorry, yeah? I never wanted-" He sighs. "I never wanted it to go down like that. And on my date, too."

It's been a few days since his conversation with Zayn, but Liam's still feeling sore, the edges of his mind rubbed raw with questions and insecurities. "Wasn't your fault. Or, wasn't just your fault."

"Yeah, we, ahh-" Niall glances down at his fingernails, his eyes narrowing as he picks at his cuticles. "We made a mess of things, the four of us. What we're best at, I guess."

Liam still doesn't really understand why it was him – why they chose him, why _he_ was worth losing what they had – but he thinks, maybe, he's starting to understand why it all went down like it did in the end. "Not all you're good at."

Niall flushes, his pale skin pinking to the dark roots of his hair. "Yeah, well, not useful skills if we can't, you know, use them."

"Don't let them get too rusty, yeah?"

Niall stares at him. The current playlist ends and Liam flicks on the microphone. "This is DJ Payno on Rare FM, with you for the next few hours. I hope you enjoyed that set. We're gonna go for something a little more – hopeful – for the next run. First up is The Mowgli's."

The microphone clicks off, and Niall swallows loud enough to be heard over the low sounds of "San Francisco" filling the radio booth.

"You, um, have a plan, Payno?"

"Might do, yeah."

***

Liam starts walking by the coffee shop again on Monday. It's nice, because it cuts five minutes off the roundabout secondary route he's been taking from his flat to the studio ever since they ended whatever it was they were doing.

He starts walking by it on Monday, but he doesn’t go in until Friday.

Louis's standing behind the counter, his hands on his hips, bent towards a customer, winking and talking with his loud, energetic tone. He's just as obnoxious as Liam remembers. 

Liam misses the shit out of him.

He gets in line, pushing his hands into his pockets and ordering a, "coffee, medium, three sugars," before Louis's head snaps up.

"With that much sugar, it's barely even coffee," Louis says, the same as he has so many times before.

Liam shrugs. "I don't like the taste."

"Clearly." Louis's hands are shaking, just a little, when he holds out his palm for Liam's coins. "Should just stick with tea."

"Would, but, I'm pretty desperate for the caffeine." Liam watches Louis as he turns, slowly, to fill Liam's cup. Liam clears his throat, trying for casual and overshooting it by a mile or two. "Haven't been sleeping so great."

Louis's back freezes, every line rigid and uncomfortable under his t-shirt. "Oh?"

Liam shrugs. "Bad breakup. But, surely, you don't know what that's like?"

Louis turns, pushing the cup towards Liam with enough force to spill coffee down the sides, and pulling his apron over his head. "Hey, Marc, I'm gonna take my ten."

Marc nods, absently, sliding over to take Louis's spot, and Louis comes around the counter, motioning for Liam to follow him. Liam grabs a napkin and a handful of sugar packets and sits, gingerly, across the table from him.

"How, um, how have you been?" Louis asks, dropping his chin and rolling his eyes at himself. "No, sorry, screw that. What are you doing here?"

"Honestly?" Liam shrugs. "I don't know. But, um, I never talked to you, after, um-" He waves his hand.

"Didn't expect you to."

"Yeah." Liam drops his head, his eyes trained on Louis's fingers where they're tearing at one of Liam's sugar packets. Liam wants to reach across and still him. "But, I- I never heard your side, yeah?"

Louis shrugs and lifts his head. His cheeks are flushed, eyes a little glassy. He looks angry, where Zayn and Harry were sad. "Nothing to tell. I- we were jerks. We should have never- it was just a laugh, yeah?"

Liam flinches.

"And then it- it wasn't. But," Louis shrugs, turning back to the sugar packet. "It was already too late."

"Maybe," Liam clears his throat. "Maybe it wasn't. Maybe, if- Did you care, Lou? About me?"

Louis's eyes are big, wide, less blue than Liam remembers. He nods jerkily.

"And the others? Niall and Zayn and Harry?"

"Yeah," Louis bites out, like it's his greatest admission.

"Okay, well," Liam reaches over, allowing himself one, quick squeeze of Louis's hand. "Maybe it's not too late, then."

Louis shakes his head. "You're mad, after all that- after what we did to you? Mad."

Liam shrugs. "Maybe. Probably." He pushes his chair back, wrapping his cup in his hands and standing. "Your break's probably up."

He doesn't wait for a response before he turns and leaves.

***

He doesn't have a plan, per say. He knows what he wants, and he has a pretty good idea that the other lads want the same thing. And he has Niall, who is either too naive or too hurt to want anything but to fix things. 

So, he has the ingredients for a plan, if not actually, like, a real plan. 

"Lock 'em in a room until they talk. Or, don't talk," Andy suggests with a wink and a leer, when Liam asks for ideas.

"Not helpful," Liam groans, at the same time as Niall grins and says, "that'd be sick, man."

Niall reaches out, pressing his fist to Liam's thigh. He's grinning, cheeks flushed with it, and Liam's brain stutters over all the other times Niall's looked like that, mouth red and swollen from kissing and hands warm and tight around Liam-

Liam freezes, lost in that feedback loop, for a long, uncomfortable moment, until Andy rubs his hands over his thighs and stands. "I'm, um, gonna go do, ahh- leave you to discuss whatever it is this is."

Liam hears Andy's door close distantly, but it's still a long moment before Niall’s hand twitches on his knee. His fingers are light and pale, ghostly against Liam's jeans, and Liam glances down to make sure they're there.

"Talk to me, Li."

"You, um." Liam's mouth feels parched. "Is that what you want?"

"What? To be locked into a room together?" Niall shrugs. "Not the most elegant plan, granted, but, we're idiots, yeah? Need someone to knock our heads together."

"No, I mean, yeah, but-" Liam's never been good with words. Not when he was trying to talk his way out of a beating, not when he was trying to explain to his parents why moving to London was definitely a smart and safe plan for their son, and not when he failed at asking these boys for something more, something different, something he's not even sure is theirs to give. 

He needs words now, though, because the way Niall's looking at him - biting at his lower lip, skin scrunched around his eyes - it’s not a look Liam ever wants to be responsible for. He drops his hands, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, looking at that stain on the coffee table that they still haven't gotten out. "This is hard, so, bear with me, yeah?"

Niall nods. Liam catches the movement of bleached blond hair out of the corner of his eye.

"I- what you did, it was shitty, yeah? It was- I thought you liked me, and then, I thought you didn't and- that hurt, ahh, more than I thought it would."

"We-" Niall starts, then stops, pushing his foot petulantly against the leg of the coffee table. "We did like you. Shit, that was never the problem."

"Yeah, I think I get that, now. Didn't make it hurt any less."

"Yeah."

"But, I think, like, I need to take responsibility for this, too. I was- no one had ever- you wanted me, and you asked for me, and no one had ever done that before. And I let that- take over. I tried to become who you wanted me to be."

"We- I-" Niall stops, flattening his palms on his thighs and looking straight at Liam. "I don't want you to be someone else. I knew you, before we ever started anything."

"Maybe." Liam shrugs. "But the others- anyway, I jumped into this whole casual thing because I thought, well, if I couldn't have you the way I wanted you, I could at least have a little of you."

"You wanted-?" Niall frowns, pointing at his chest. "Me? Without the others?"

"The opposite."

Niall's frown deepens. "You wanted the others, and not me?"

Liam laughs, and it slips through his dry throat a little harsher than he meant it too. "No, Niall, you're not- I'm not saying this right."

"Just, say it, yeah? I won't be mad. No leg to stand on, me."

Liam takes a deep breath. "I want all of you. All of us. Together, like, proper together. Not- casual, I'm shit at casual. I'm shit at most things, really, but commitment? I'm pretty good at that. Pathologically so, according to Andy. And, fuck, like, I can't even do a proper friends with benefits without falling for every one of you." Liam shakes his head, his laugh self-deprecating and dry.

Niall's staring at him, eyes wide and blue and hands clutching desperately at his jeans, as if he needs something, anything, to hold on to, to keep himself together. Liam knows how he feels.

"I'm sorry, that was too much. I always- I'm always too much, really."

"No, no, fuck, Liam, I-" Niall slips to the ground, crouching in front of Liam and digging his fingers painfully into Liam's knees as if, maybe, just maybe, Liam's that thing he's been looking for. "I'm rubbish at these things, you should be talking to Harry."

Even now, even as his heart is sinking and he's already building walls in his mind, Liam wants to touch him, wants to wrap his fingers in Niall's hair and tug him close. He has to look away.

"Yeah, I figured that'd be your answer. I just- it was a stupid idea. I'm sorry."

"No, it's-" Niall says, quickly, his words riding high on his fast, pained breaths. "Fuck, should have known, the moment I saw you, that you'd be the end of me."

Liam makes a noise, somewhere between questioning and resignation, and Niall's fingers tighten around his knees.

"I want all that. Probably have for ages, just, needed you to show me. Told you I needed someone to kick my ass."

"Niall?" Something dangerous and hopeful flickers around Liam's walls.

"I'm saying," Niall murmurs, his voice dropping low as he straightens, pulling himself onto the couch with Liam, his thighs draped across Liam, "that I'm all in, yeah?"

Liam braces himself against Niall's hips, digging his fingers hard enough to leave bruises on Niall's pale skin, but he's feeling dizzy with relief and anticipation and fear. "If we're gonna do this," he says, just to make sure, "it can't be like last time."

"Won't be," Niall promises. "Can't be, now that I know there's another way. Thanks for that, by the way."

Liam laughs. "No problem."

"Twat," Niall laughs, low and quiet, as he drops his head and catches Liam's mouth. It's- different, Liam thinks, more intense for his six weeks of celibacy, but also warmer, gentler, settled in the knowledge that this isn't it. That there's a possibility, now, that this is the beginning of something more, a precursor to all the things Liam's been dreaming about, and that's heady and intoxicating and Liam's head is spinning with it.

He wraps one hand in Niall's hair, tugging at him like he's been wanting to, and the other around Niall's hip, slipping under Niall's t-shirt and pulling him close. Liam's hard already, and only getting harder as Niall whines, bucking his hips into Liam's with short, aborted thrusts against Liam's thighs.

Niall's hard, too, pressing against the zipper of his grey jeans, as he arches his back. "Fuck, Li, I- I haven't, since-"

"Fuck," Liam agrees, his mind flashing red at the knowledge that Niall, too, has been abstaining in Liam's absence. He thinks of Niall, lying awake at night, his hand pushed into his boxers, biting his hand around Liam's name as he thinks about him, thinks about all of them, and Liam groans as a thick drop of precome slides into his boxers. 

He untangles his hands, dropping them to work frantically at Niall's jeans, opening them just far enough to shove his boxers to rest under his balls, warm and heavy in Liam's palm. He spends a moment there, feeling, memorizing, until Niall jerks, pressing against Liam and, yeah, Liam's there, too.

He lifts his hips just enough to pull his dick out of the v of his jeans, before he wraps both of his hands back around Niall's hips. He steadies Niall, urging his forward, hard and fast and rhythmic, their dicks rubbing and jerking with every thrust until Niall's whimpering above him, leaving a trail of precome from his stomach to Liam's. 

It's hot, hotter than Liam remembers, and his thighs are already tensing when Niall gets his hand around them both. They barely fit in Niall's long, thin fingers, but he manages, jerking them both for no time at all until he's coming, his toes curling against Liam's thigh and his neck thrown back. Liam leans forward, biting a bruise into the hollow of Niall's neck as he follows, hips arching up and his whole body tensing as he comes between them.

"Shit," Niall murmurs, when he's caught his breath and had his fill of kissing Liam's mouth. "Missed you."

"Yeah," Liam agrees. "Missed you, too."

"But, ahh," Niall looks guilty as he lifts himself onto his knees so that he can pull his boxers up and close his jeans. "Until, the others, we probably shouldn't, again."

Liam's chest aches and he pulls Niall into a long, deep, promise of a kiss. "Yeah, not ‘til we talk to them, yeah?"

He's still grinning when he heads to the shower after Niall leaves, his jeans open and come drying at the hem of his shirt. Andy's door opens and he stares, openly, at Liam's softening dick, cradled against his thigh.

"You're an asshole," he says, fondly. "And I'm happy for you, but, no more of that on the couch or I’m kicking you out."

Liam raises his middle finger as he slips into the bathroom.

***

The football game isn't Niall's idea. It's the station's- a fundraising thing for new soundboards and software or something that Liam doesn't really understand. Liam doesn't know who would pay to see him play football, but as he flicks on a new song on the antiquated soundboard, he can admit it's a good cause.

"Our plan," Niall says, gloating, as he leans against the back of Liam's chair and waves the announcement in front of him. "Fell right into our laps. Didn't even have to work for it."

Liam eyes him, slowly, running through all the ways this can play out. Five hurt, angry lads fighting over a football, armed with weeks of pent-up resentment and- "This is a terrible idea."

"I know, it's brilliant, innit?" Niall presses a kiss to the side of Liam's head, loud and went and completely ignorant of Liam's distress, before bouncing out of the studio.

So, the football match isn't Niall's idea, but asking the boys to play, that definitely is.

***

"I still think this is a terrible idea," Liam says, a week later, when Niall sits him down to brainstorm text messages to the boys.

Niall shrugs, flipping Liam's phone between his fingers. "Got any better ideas?"

Liam's been trying, like, really trying. But he's never really been an ideas kinda guy, and he hasn't been able to come up with anything better. He'd even called Ruth, which, he shudders just at the memory of how that conversation had gone, starting with _so, there are these four lads_ and ending with Ruth laughing so hard that she hung up on him.

"Li?"

Liam shakes his head and, admits, "Not yet."

"Well, then, get typing." Niall slides the phone to him, then shifts, pressing the heel of his hand between his legs. "I'm getting blue balls over here."

Niall's arching into his hand, long legs taut and spread in his skinnies, and Liam forces himself to roll his eyes even as he flushes. He can relate- he's half hard and more than a little desperate himself. It's only been a week or so, but after getting nothing, and then getting so much, Liam's having a hard time going back to the nothing.

"I can-" He offers, flexing his fingers in Niall's direction.

Niall leans towards him for a moment, and Liam hopes, really hopes, that he's going to give in. But then he sighs, deep and suffering, and removes his hand, crossing his legs over his bulge and leaning across the table to push the phone closer to Liam. "Type."

Liam sighs, typing out a _you owe me_ group text. He sends it, then thinks for a moment, before typing out three separate additions.

_it's football_ to Louis.

_it's for charity_ to Harry.

_this is ur chance 2 make things right_ to Zayn.

Liam should be happier when he gets three _ill b there_ texts in quick succession.

***

Liam isn't wrong about the disaster part. Niall isn't wrong about it being a good plan, though, either, so as he makes his way into the locker room, Liam resolves to make it work.

Louis's already there, digging through his duffle bag for a shirt. He's dressed in nothing but red shorts, rolled down over his hips, and knee socks, slipping down his calves. His spider tattoo is sticking out over the socks and his back is long and tanned and flexed.

Liam digs his free hand into his pocket before he does something stupid, like touch him. "Hey."

Louis's head snaps up, and Liam offers him a small smile. "Ahh, hi. Can't find my jersey."

"We have shirts. Colors, for the different sides." Liam holds up the bag in his hand. "Red or blue?"

"Red," Louis says, reaching for the shirt Liam holds out, before freezing. "Oh, hell no. I'm outta here."

Liam turns, following Louis's eyes to see Harry standing in the doorway. He's wobbling on the insides of his feet, his bag hiked high on his shoulder, worrying at his bottom lip. He gives a little wave, twitching his fingers in their direction, even though he's only a few feet away.

Louis pulls his bag onto his shoulder, his kit spilling over its sides, but Liam reaches out, his hand flat and steady on Louis's chest, right above the second "it is" of Louis's "it is what it is" tattoo. 

"It's for charity?" Liam offers, curling his fingers into Louis's warm skin.

Louis leans into it, minutely, before taking a step back, still glaring daggers at Harry. "He's blue."

Harry shrugs. "I like blue."

"Course you do," Louis says under his breath, pulling his shirt on, grabbing his boots, and pushing out onto the field.

Liam sighs. "Sorry 'bout that."

Harry shrugs. "He has every right to be mad at me. I wouldn't have come, if I'd known he'd be here."

"I know. It's why I didn't tell you."

"Oh." He's still worrying away at the red, worn spot on his bottom lip. Liam wants to lean forward and kiss him, but he settles for reaching out, pressing his thumb, hard and desperate and something like a promise, to that spot. Harry shivers and repeats, "Oh," his eyes wide and blown.

"It's up to all of us this time," Liam whispers, as Harry licks at the pad of Liam's thumb.

It takes a force of will, but Liam pulls away, leaving Harry to get changed and heading out to the field. Niall's already there, a clipboard pressed to his chest, absently rolling a football under the ball of his foot as he watches Louis dribble a few yards away.

"So, when you said we weren't gonna have to work for it?"

Niall's cheeks are flushed as he shrugs with an exaggerated fall of his shoulders. "Might take a little bit of work."

"Should have known."

"Will be worth it, though, in the end."

Liam wishes he could be so sure about that. "We'll see."

***

The game is dirty from the start. 

Not a minute in, Zayn deliberately misses a perfect pass from Louis and, when Louis shouts at him, shrugs and walks away, shouting "I don't wanna fight, I'm gonna be the bigger man" over his shoulder.

Louis fumes, and takes it out on Liam's team with a well-placed goal. And, when the first half ends 1-0 for the red team, he pulls the team into a celebratory hug that leaves Zayn on the outside, digging at a divot with his toe.

The second half starts slow, until Liam catches a pass from Niall and sees that Harry is standing still in an open area of the field, between two defenders who clearly don't see him as a threat. Harry's watching the action and, when Liam passes the ball to his feet, he stares at it for a long moment, as if he's surprised to find the ball there.

"Shoot," Liam yells, his voice carrying over the slight breeze and Harry takes a quick step before booting it into the goal. Liam catches him in a tight hug, his fingers trailing across the back of Harry's neck as he grins. "Nice shot."

"I-" Harry looks up, eyes wide. "I scored."

Liam laughs. "You did."

"Don't get too excited. Even goofies have to get lucky sometimes," Louis spits, as he jogs past. Zayn clearly wasn’t the only target of Louis’s ire.

Harry flushes, shrugging in Liam's embrace as he stares past Liam's shoulder at Louis. "Yeah, probably. Still- Thanks, Li. Usually people don't pass to me."

"Can't imagine why."

Harry balls his fists at the sides of his thighs as he pulls away from Liam, even as he tries, softly, "Lou-"

"Shove it."

Harry shakes his head, as they move into position for the kick-off. But, when Louis deliberately sticks out his leg to trip Harry on his next run down the field, Harry loses his temper. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"You," Louis spits, his hands on his hips, as Harry scrambles up. 

"I didn't do anything." Harry brushes at his knee, at the large, dirty scrape above his socks. There are grass stains on his cheek and elbow. "Not any more than you did."

"Oh, fine, keep playing the martyr Harry. With your big fucking heart and your stupid conscience and-" Louis shoves at Harry, his hands spread wide on Harry's chest.

"Sorry for not being an asshole."

"Fuck you."

Harry shoves back, not nearly as strong as Louis, but taller, bigger, and Louis stumbles, reaching out to wrap his fist in Harry's jersey. Their faces are close, flushed and angry, and Liam wants it to play out, but they're on the pitch, in front of an audience who paid good money for a charity match, and he's grateful when the ref steps in-between them.

"You're done. Both of you."

"See?" Louis shouts, as they head off the field. "You ruined it for everyone, again."

Harry scoffs, crossing his arms as he falls heavily onto the bench. "You should look into a mirror every once in a while."

Louis spreads his legs, turning his chin away from Harry and scowling at the pitch.

They don't move for the rest of the match, a 3-2 victory for the blue side and a definite victory for the station, which raised enough money for a new soundboard and some extras. Liam tries not to think that people were actually paying to watch the five of them scuffle, but, with no evidence to the contrary, he just buries his head and tries to get off the pitch as quickly as possible.

"You tried," he tells Niall with a shrug, as he pulls his bag onto his shoulder.

"Not done trying," Niall promises, but Liam 's pretty done getting his hopes up.

***

He should not be surprised by the _get back 2 the pitch. now !!_ text he gets from Niall a few hours later. He's already on the couch, though, showered and dressed in nothing but soft, flannel pajamas bottoms. There's a pile of beer bottles on the table, and he's not sure how many are his and how many are Andy's, but he knows at least a few of them are his, if the fuzzy, heavy feeling in his limbs is anything to go by.

"You should go," Andy urges, when Liam drops his phone to the table, the text message still up for Andy to see.

"Nah." Liam sweeps his feet onto the couch. "I'm done."

"You're not. Liam, you're never done. You're, like, the most dedicated person I've ever met."

Liam wishes he could argue. Wishes he could just lay back, watch Big Brother and drink until he can forget all about the boys. "I hate that about myself," he mutters as he rolls off the couch, his feet cold as they hit the worn wooden floor.

"Nah." Andy swipes at his ass. "It's one of your best qualities, most of the time."

Liam's not so sure of that, when he arrives at the pitch half an hour later to find everyone but Niall already there. Liam's still pretty buzzed, but he did throw on trackies and a hoodie, and the walk over did some good in airing out the worst of his fuzziness. "Hey," he offers, quietly, as he steps over to the bench.

"Hey," Zayn offers, from where he's sitting on the grass, picking absently at blades. "Niall text you, too?"

Liam shrugs. "Yeah. You?"

"Of course he did." Louis rolls his eyes. His arms are still crossed, and he doesn't look much happier than he did at the end of the match. "Wouldn't be here on my own, if he didn't."

"Right," Liam nods. "Of course."

He jumps as the door swings open with a clang, and Niall strides in, looking more frustrated and in control than Liam's ever seen him. His voice is short, clipped, edged with steel. "Right, you're all here, good." He's carrying a football under his arm and he drops it the grass, kicking it in Zayn's direction.

It hits Zayn on his elbow and he frowns, rubbing at the spot as he glares at Niall. "Fuck, what'd you do that for?"

"Get up." Niall waves at all of them. "Everyone, get up. We're gonna have this out, right here, right now. And if, at the end, you really don't want to make it work, fine. But I'm not giving up without even trying."

"Niall-" Harry starts, taking a step forward, but Niall holds up his hand.

"No, I'm done. Here and now, that's what we've got."

Niall waits, but no one says anything, and he nods.

"Okay. So, two on three? Louis, you and Liam against the rest of us? That should be about even."

Liam shrugs. "I've had some beers," he admits, because he figures it's only fair. If this is gonna work – and it might just be crazy enough to work – they're going to have to go for honesty. As impossible as Liam figures that is.

Louis rolls his eyes, stealing the ball from Zayn and jogging it to the center of the pitch. "Of course you have."

"If you had cared half as much about us as you do about football, maybe we wouldn't have been in this mess," Zayn says, under his breath, as he struggles to his feet.

Louis freezes, turning back. "You wanna repeat that?"

Zayn shrugs. "Wouldn't do any good. Didn’t listen the first time, why would you now?"

"Wasn't my fault everything got fucked up." Louis crosses his arms, glaring in Harry's direction, as if he hadn't already made it clear that he lays all the blame at Harry's feet.

Harry throws his hands in the air. "Fine, fine. Want me to take responsibility?"

Louis nods. "Would be nice, yeah."

"Fine." Harry frowns, looking around at all of them. "I'll take full responsibility for being the only one decent enough to own up to the shit we were doing."

"There you go again, playing the martyr. If you're the only decent one among us, why were you with us in the first place?"

"A question I ask myself every day."

"Harry, we're not-" Zayn tries, running his hand through his hair 'til it falls, dark and thick, over his eyes. "We don't blame you-"

"Speak for yourself."

Zayn ignores Louis. "- but, if you had talked to us- I, at least, would have been all for telling Liam."

Liam folds his shoulders in as all eyes turn on him. He hates being their center of attention. He hates feeling like this is his fault. And, most of all, he hates the reminder of what they did, how they treated him, what they thought of him.

"Me too," Niall agrees.

"You were all so set on the plan," Harry argues. He's holding himself tightly, his hands spread wide over his rib cage.

"Only cause I didn't know there was another way." Zayn shrugs. He sounds sadder than he does angry. "And I didn't think you'd all agree if there was."

"A lot of that going around," Niall says, quietly.

Louis glares at him, anyway. "No, no, this is bullshit. You were all in that room. You threw a right strop when I called dibs on Liam, Harry. And you," Louis turns on Zayn, "hid in your studio for three whole days. You all agreed on the competition. Don't act like it was just me."

"You did?" Liam asks, before he can stop himself. He watches as Zayn twists his hands in front of him and Harry kicks at the grass with his boots.

"Already told you that, Li," Harry says, softly. "Cared too much about you, all of us. 's what started this all."

"Oh." Liam glances down. He's been told it before, by each of them, separately, in their own ways. He had known it, absently, that this was all his fault, that he was the one who came between them. Standing here, though, in the remnants of what they had, it's hard to feel any of the warmth or the pride or the affection that thought had filled him with before. "I'm sorry," he adds, softly. "I didn't mean to ruin-" he waves, encompassing all of them.

"You didn't," Zayn tells him. "We just didn't care enough to make it work. Or, at least, not all of us cared enough."

"Fuck you," Louis spits. "Fuck you, I care more than all of you put together."

"Louis-"

Louis looks down, his shoulders slumping as he kicks at the ball. His eyes are blinking rapidly as he admits, his voice low, razor-sharp, hurt. "Wouldn't be so angry if I didn't care."

"I know," Liam says, quietly, into the silence that descends upon them.

Louis wipes frantically at the edges of his eyes before he lifts his head. "Look, just forget- I want things the rest of you don't, and I get that. But, just, give me some time to get over it, yeah?" He kicks the ball in Liam's direction, and starts walking towards the exit.

Harry reaches out, catching the ball before it can get to Liam. He kicks it towards Louis. It misses him by a couple of feet, but he stops anyway, turning around to glare at Harry.

"Trying to kill me now? Can't even let me go in peace?"

"Now who's playing the martyr?" Harry rolls his eyes. "You don't have a monopoly on caring, Louis. Stop being an ass."

"I'm sorry if my feelings are inconvenient for you."

"Oh, fuck off." Harry’s arms are looser around his chest and he's smiling a little as he walks the few feet to stand in front of Louis. Liam doesn’t know what he's expecting, but it's definitely not for Harry to rock forward on the balls of his feet and kiss Louis, slow and easy, as Louis sinks under him. "I'm done letting you push us away."

"Harry-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Harry says, softly, resting his forehead on Louis's, his hands light on Louis's hips. "But, things are gonna be different, this time. Liam's made that pretty clear." He turns, still touching Louis in every way, to give Liam a bright, self-deprecating smile that curls into the dimples in his cheeks. 

"Liam?" Louis looks past Harry, to where Liam's standing, alone on the grass, the apex of their group.

Liam nods, his head dizzy and a little unfocused, just enough that he says, accepting that responsibly without really thinking it through, "I'm kind of a commitment guy?"

Zayn snorts, "That's an understatement," but his fingers are warm and tight on the back of Liam's neck. He pauses, leaning forward, pressing against the fading bruise Niall left under his jaw a week ago. "Hey, is that-?"

"Yeah." Liam swallows under Zayn's finger. "Niall and I kinda cheated, last week."

"Fuckers are gonna pay for that," Zayn murmurs, as he bends his mouth to worry at the bruise until it's a bright, tingling spot spreading through Liam's body. 

"Not our fault you lot are slow," Niall says, lightly, as he pushes Zayn away from Liam. "And, stop that. It's what got us into trouble in the first place."

Liam's whole body is alight, and it takes almost more effort than he has to straighten, putting just a few inches between them all. "Niall's right," he says, reluctantly, as he adjusts himself in his trackies.

Zayn's eyes follow Liam's hand until Niall snaps his fingers and Zayn shakes himself out of it. "Sorry." He doesn't sound sorry. "What do you suggest?"

"A date." Harry's hand slips, warm and comforting, to the small of Louis's back as he leads him back towards the group. "Like a real, proper date. See if this can work, yeah? The five of us."

"Unconventional," Louis says, with a little tilt of his head and Liam knows he's cheating, but he leans forward, just a quick, soft, promise of a kiss. When he pulls back, Louis touches his lips gently, smiling in the corners of his eyes. "But worth a try, I'd say."

Zayn groans. He's hard in his jeans, but he shifts his hips in an effort to hide it. "Fine, fine, I'm in."

"Me too," Niall agrees. "My place, Tuesday? I'll order pizza."

"I'll make something," Harry offers, instead. His hand tightens in Liam's shirt. "You in?"

Liam blinks. They're all looking at him, careful and wary and with more than a hint of possibility, and it's everything Liam's been wanting, for months, offered to him, easy and hopeful. He still hurts, probably won't stop for a while, but they're here, now, offering themselves to him, and to each other, and he wants it, wants to be a part of it, never wants to let go of them. He lets himself smile. "Yeah, yeah. I'm all in."

**Epilogue**

Liam doesn't think he'll ever get used to feeling like this. 

Loved, wanted, whole. With Louis's lips, warm and wet, spread wide around Liam's dick; Zayn's fingers, long and thin and blunt, spreading him open, scissoring with a low, aching pressure; Niall's mouth open and desperate, as he breathes hotly against Liam's, Niall’s dick twitching in his palm.

He's lost track of how often he's found himself surrounded by his boys, but he's not used to it yet. He’s not used to the nights when he’s slipping into Niall, watching the way his ass closes, pale and tight and wet, around Liam’s dick as if Liam’s the first thing he’s ever taken. He’s not used to the nights he lies to the side, jerking himself off as he watches Louis fuck Harry hard, Louis’s hands, small and strong, clutching at Harry’s knees until Harry’s skin is white and his lips are swollen and he’s swearing, begging, for Louis, for Liam, for all of them. He’s not used to the nights they spend wrapped around each other, five mouths and ten hands and nothing but skin and kisses and orgasms pooling in their balls, with no sense of where each other ends and begins.

And he’s definitely not used to nights like this, when Liam finds himself on his back, the center of so much attention. He doesn’t know what he’s ever done to deserve it, but he hopes he never stops wondering.

Someone's phone rings – "Hotel California," so Niall's probably – and Zayn reaches over to pluck it off Louis's bedside table. He glances at it before answering on speaker.

"Hey, Haz," he says, as he drops the phone next to Liam's shoulder, twisting his fingers and holding Liam far enough open to add a third. Liam groans, pushing away from Zayn's fingers, into Louis's mouth.

Louis frowns, pulling all the way off with a little, strained cough. Liam's dick curls around his hip, slippery with Louis's spit and his own pre-come, sticky across his stomach. He pushes his hips up, again, searching for Louis's hand and Louis gentles him with a hand on his stomach, stroking over Liam's shaking muscles and pressing his palm against the head of Liam's erection.

Liam can't help the low, broken moan that slips out against Niall's mouth.

Harry's voice, tinnie but coherent, is sharp through the phone. "Did you assholes start without me?"

"Mmm," Zayn hums, noncommittally, curling his fingers in search of Liam's prostate. Liam spreads his legs, draping them over Louis's thighs, opening himself further as Louis presses down, hard, on Liam's stomach, pushing him into Zayn's fingers.

Liam groans, again, and Harry swears.

"Fuck, you did, didn't you?"

"Just warming up as we wait for you," Niall promises, grinning as he pulls away from Liam's mouth to kiss deep, wet bruises along the tendon of Zayn's neck.

"Fuck," is all Harry manages, and they can hear the rustle as he shifts in the back of the cab. He lets out a muffled groan, and Liam can picture him, legs spread and dick twitching against his thigh, biting down on the heel of his hand to keep from giving himself away.

Zayn adds a fourth finger, pressing up, higher, further into Liam, and his voice is a little strung out as he says, "You should probably hurry," before hanging up.

He shifts, pressing against Liam's side, and Liam can feel how hard he is as the denim of his jeans brushes against the bare, taught skin of Liam's thigh. Liam twists his knee, spreading his legs even further as he brushes his thigh between Zayn's legs.

Zayn shivers, falling forward and catching himself on Louis's back as his fingers twist, hard, against the wet clutch of Liam's body. "Shit, I can't- are you-?"

Liam nods. "I'm good, yeah."

"Okay, okay." The bed shifts as Zayn lifts off it, slipping out of his jeans and boxers. Niall reaches across Liam to dig through the bedside table, coming out with a handful of condoms. 

Zayn strokes himself with a loose fist as he joins them on the bed again, moving in between Liam's legs as Louis shifts away to join Niall next to them. Niall hands over a silver packet. "Thanks," Zayn says, his voice hoarse and tight.

Niall grins, "no problem," as he reaches for Louis, spreading his knees and settling Louis over his body. They arch together, hips settling into a slow, unhurried rhythm. Liam watches them, his hips automatically setting the same rhythm until Zayn settles between them, his hand warm and steady on the tops of Liam's thighs.

"Good?" He asks, waiting only long enough for Liam to nod before he grabs the base of his dick and slips in. He's not the biggest of them, but he's long and curved, so that he settles deep and insistent inside Liam when he buries himself all the way inside.

"Fuck, Zee, shit that's perfect," Liam groans, lifting his hips to accommodate him, his hands scrabbling against the warm, slick skin of Zayn's shoulders.

Zayn laughs, burying his forehead in Liam's collarbone, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses along the bone. "You should feel this," he argues in warm puffs against Liam's skin.

"Mmm," Liam hums, remembering all the times he has, buried inside Zayn or Niall, wet and slick and tight. He groans, raising his knees so that he can dig his heels into the mattress for the leverage he needs to meet Zayn's thrusts.

Liam can tell that it's going to be fairly quick. They've all been hard for hours, since Harry's first set at the Variety, a dark, dingy club designed for the low, rough gravel of Harry's music. As Harry sang about love and forgiveness, they had danced, hips and knees and chests pressed together, sneaking kisses and gropes under the low light.

Zayn had been more than half-aroused, then, the bulge of his jeans pressing insistently against Liam's ass as they danced. And, again, rubbing slowly against his hip in the cab, when the four of them tumbled into the backseat. A promise - a warning - that this is Liam’s night, that Zayn will have him on his back, arching up to meet Zayn’s thrusts, just as he is now. 

Liam can feel the pent up tension thrumming through Zayn's muscles, and he runs his hands down Zayn's biceps, quickening the speed of his hips and urging Zayn to meet him.

"Come on," Liam murmurs and Zayn grunts, raising his head to meet Liam's lips in something much more like a deep breath than a kiss, as he speeds up his rhythm.

"Fuck, fuck, Liam," Zayn pants into Liam's mouth, as his whole body stutters, losing any sense of rhythm as he comes, long and hard. He holds himself through it, mouth slack and open through the aftershocks as he slowly, slowly comes back to himself, enough, at least, to press a couple quick, gentle kisses to Liam's mouth. "Fuck, Li," he repeats, reverent, loose, drugged.

Liam grins, raising his neck for a last kiss as Zayn pulls away, fingers tight around the condom as he rolls towards Louis and Niall. He ties it off, dropping it into the trash, before turning back to Liam and wrapping his fingers around Liam's angry, red erection.

"Hey, hey," Louis says, unwrapping himself from Niall to swat at Zayn's hand. "My turn."

"I don't really care who. Just-" Liam pushes himself up, asking for friction from the air, before Louis gets his fingers around the base of Liam's dick, squeezing, hard, to keep him from coming.

Liam whines, dropping his head to the pillow, not watching as Louis gets himself ready and slips the head of his dick into Liam's body. Liam's loose and open from Zayn, but Louis's thicker, harder, and Louis gives him time to adjust before slipping in another inch.

"Still so tight," Louis murmurs, awed, dropping to his elbows as he eases himself in further. The room is quiet, slow, and Liam bites his lip against the tight, piercing ache, turning his head to see Zayn slipping Niall's boxers off his thighs, before settling between them. Niall is pale in the low light of Louis's bedroom, curved red and thick against his skin, a nice contrast to the darker shade of Zayn's skin as he wraps Niall in his fist.

"Shit, Zee, right there, yeah," Niall groans, his head thrashing back against the bedspread.

Liam groans, stretching his knees and feeling himself loosen enough for Louis to slip all the way in, only stopping when his balls come to rest in the curve of Liam's ass.

"God, Liam, love you," Louis murmurs, and Liam raises himself up to kiss him, matching the rhythm of Louis's hips with his tongue.

He doesn't know how much time passes as he's wrapped up in the feel of Louis's body and the slipping, slapping sounds of their skin, before the door bangs open. 

"Fuck," Louis grunts, twisting, a little painfully, above Liam to turn his head towards the noise.

Liam lifts himself onto his elbows so that he can look past Louis to see Harry in the doorway, already halfway out of his clothes, his dick heavy and thick in his pants. There's a wet spot spreading on the cotton and Liam lets his eyes slip shut as he falls back to the bed, pulling Louis with him. "Come on, Lou," he urges, pressing a heel to Louis's ass and pushing him up and forward.

"Shit, okay, okay, just-" He straightens his arms on either side of Liam's head, gaining leverage to start thrusting again.

The bed dips next to them and Liam opens his eyes to watch as Harry pulls Niall into a hard, wet kiss, dropping his hand between Zayn's legs and whining when he finds him soft and spent. "This really isn't fair. It was my gig."

"Should be flattered," Niall says, his voice stuttering at the end as Zayn wraps Niall in his mouth again, finishing on, "fuck, Zee."

Liam reaches over, tapping against Harry's hip and motioning him over. "Come here."

"Yeah, yeah," Harry says, losing his balance as he tries to get over as fast as he can. He catches himself on the wall, spreading his knees on either side of Liam's shoulders, slipping another pillow under Liam's head. "Was hard all gig, watching you guys dance."

"We were puttin' on a show for ya," Niall tells him, his words short and stuttered to match Zayn's rhythm on his dick.

Harry hums happily, his fingers flexing against the wall as Liam softens his throat to take Harry in as far as he can go. "Fuck, fuck," Harry groans, flattening his cheek against the wall like he's desperate for something, anything to cool him down. A watery, salty pulse of precome slips down Liam's throat and he shifts, adjusting his neck and flattening his tongue under the head of Harry's dick.

He tries to make it good, but it's near-impossible, with the steady, harsh rhythm Louis is setting between his legs. He twists his hips, searching until he settles on Liam's prostate, rubbing against it with every thrust. Liam shivers, his mouth open around Harry's dick, and it can't be more than hot and wet and loose. He wants to apologize for the lack of pressure and technique, but then Louis's grunting, lifting himself high enough to pull Harry into a hot, desperate kiss as he twitches in Liam's body.

Liam sighs, arching up, trying to rub himself between their bodies. It's mostly a pointless effort, and he's feeling strung-out, his release coiled unpleasantly low in his stomach. He's distracted by it, and the sounds of Niall, getting louder as he gets closer, so much so that Liam doesn't even notice Louis and Harry have switched places until Harry presses between Liam's thighs, his dick big and weighty in the crease of Liam's thighs.

"Okay?" Harry asks, voice low and gentle, even as he twitches, hot and heavy, against Liam's skin.

Liam flexes his muscles. He hasn't taken three of them in one night, but he's taken them all, separately, and, even if he'll be a bit sore in the morning, he wants to. "Yeah," he assures him. "Please."

"Yeah, just, tell me if it's too much, okay? Promise?"

Liam nods. Harry nudges forward, stretching Liam, as slick and gaping as he is, around the heft of Harry's dick. He's big, the biggest of them all, long and thick and straight, blunt as he pushes forward, slowly, slowly.

"You were so good tonight," Liam says, mostly to distract himself, but also because it's true, and Harry needs to hear it. "Made us so hot. I've been on edge for hours."

Harry flushes, insecure in so little but his music. "Yeah?" He reaches down, wrapping his fingers loosely around Liam's erection, finally, finally, giving him something to thrust against.

"Fuck, fuck." Liam trembles, feeling so close, so quickly, that he's dizzy with it. "Yeah, you're so good, Haz."

"Thanks." Harry drops his head, embarrassed, as he twitches inside Liam, his hips stuttering forward. Liam drapes his knees over Harry's thighs, pushing back against him as he lifts into Harry's hand. 

"So good," Liam repeats, and Harry twitches again, grunting into Liam's neck as he flexes a hard thrust into his body. Liam grins, grasping at Harry's hips, setting a hard, quick rhythm from the get go, chasing the orgasm he's been inching towards for hours.

"Yeah, Li, fuck, so much." Harry's eyes slip shut, his fingers tightening around Liam's dick and his mouth searching, blindly, for Liam's.

Liam's so close, he can feel it thrumming from his balls to his fingers, settling with a desperate shaking in his knees, cradled around Harry's hips as he arches his back, searching for it. He's almost, almost there, and-

Next to them, Niall lets out a loud, "shit, Zee, I'm gonna-" ending on a groan, arching off the bed and coming down Zayn's throat.

It's all Liam can take, as he curls into Harry's body, gripping at the mattress with his toes, his hands leaving dark, purpled bruises on Harry's hips. His eyes blur, slipping shut as he moans, low and deep and feral, into Harry's mouth.

Liam collapses back against the quilts and Harry follows him, keeping his mouth loose and slack over Liam's. "Shit, Li, you're so fucking hot."

"Mmm." Liam has to focus to kiss him, his body feeling tired and heavy, moving, willingly, however Harry moves him. "'m good," he says, answering a question Harry didn't really ask and Harry laughs.

"I'm close," he promises, as he lowers himself over Liam's body, flexing his hips hard and loud against Liam's. It feels good, in a distant, sated way, but he's still happy when Harry's thrusts speed up and he comes with a loud shout. His muscles tighten and he holds himself still for a long moment before he pulls out and to the side, collapsing at Liam's side as Liam continues to run gentling hands up and down Harry's side.

"Okay?" He asks, rolling over to get rid of the condom and pull Louis to his other side, before turning back to Liam and slipping a long, blunt finger along the rim of Liam's ass.

Liam shifts, shaking out his legs and shying away from the sore, used feeling already setting in. "A little achy."

"Yeah," Harry cringes, at the same time as Louis lets out a happy noise, raising his fist for Zayn to bump. "You're gonna be."

"'s okay," Liam promises, rolling onto his side and pulling Harry's arm around his waist. Louis spoons behind Harry, reaching far enough to brush his fingers against Liam's hip, a soft, gentle reminder that he's here. 

"We need a king-sized bed," Niall grumbles, not the first time, as he slips in front of Liam, fitting his knees around Liam's.

Liam laughs, barely a puff of air against Niall's neck. He’s never been happier.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
